


white blank page.

by antisocialgod



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, F/F, carmilla bs au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 176,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antisocialgod/pseuds/antisocialgod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura's mother leaves and Laura has to deal with the fact that she's unwanted.</p><p>Also known as: <b>Carmilla bright & shiny au.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before (May - Freshman Year)

**Author's Note:**

> We don't own anything you recognize. Title is from the song "White Blank Page" by Mumford & Sons.
> 
> Page breaks are POV changes.

It took your mother sixteen years to realize she didn’t want you and sometimes, on days like today, you wonder how long it’s going to take your father to realize the same.

He’s tying his shoes and you’re buttoning up the thickest jacket you own - because you’ve never understood his love for the cold air of the hockey arena brushing against his skin and that’s where you’re headed today – when he reaches over and ruffles your hair.

“Big game today.” He says. “Championship.”

You try not to shrink away from his touch, but it’s difficult and you end up shrugging your shoulders awkwardly and grabbing for the toque that you were planning to wear anyway, but is now completely necessary to your outfit.

“I know, Dad.” You pull gloves on too because why not at this point. “We’ve gone over this.”

“I know.” He smiles and nods. “I’m just worried about the other team’s offence, but – “

“- it’s pointless because you have Carmilla.” You finish for him. “I know all that too.”

“Kid if you were on the team, I’d brag about having you instead.” He takes one last look at himself in the hall mirror and adjusts his tie. “You run a mean five kilometer. Of course anyone who runs and trains as much as you do can probably match it.”

_Yeah, that doesn’t really make you feel better._

The drive to the rink kind of sucks because all your Dad can talk about is how much he’s looking forward to Carmilla Karnstein exploiting the other team’s defence and it makes you feel like you’re in highschool all over again, winning championships and getting into universities, but always being passed over by your own father in favor of the jackass of a girl he loves to coach.

You try not to listen to him too much, opting instead to text Perry and LaFontaine about whether or not they were coming to the game. Last game, you had sat next to the goon who is an even bigger Karnstein fan boy than your father and you’d like to not replay the experience.

At some point during the drive, though, you can’t help but point out that you too excel at a sport and he has the decency to at least look embarrassed.

“I know that, Laura.” He keeps his eyes on the road instead of looking at you, though. “And you understand why I haven’t been making it to your soccer matches, right? Since your Mom left – “

“I know.” You practically spit  out. “I know it’s been difficult since she left.”

“That’s right.” He looks over at you, a forced smile on his face and changes the subject. “You look fancy for a hockey game. What ever happened to the nerdy t-shirts?”

_They reminded me too much of her just like the sofa you threw away two months ago_ , you want to say, but you refrain. He had only started mentioning her again in conversation, over three full years later, and you think bringing the past back might be a bad idea.

“You trying to nab yourself a hockey girl?” He laughs and you reward him with a small laugh of your own.

“Just looking good for myself, Dad.”

“Atta girl.” He pulls into the parking lot and the look on his face reminds you of a little kid on Christmas morning. “Kiss for good luck, pumpkin.”

You kiss his cheek and try to shake off the thought that you’d like to see his team lose every aspect of the game tonight.

 

* * *

 

Championship finals aren’t really a new thing for you.

You started playing back in middle school, after your father died and your stepmother became too much for you to handle, with her crazy obsessions and often creepy behavior. Back then, you’d figured hitting a small, black rubber disc as hard as you could against the net - and sometimes other people - might prove to be a good way to deal with your losses.

As you sit down on the locker room bench, however many years later, you can’t help but be glad for that decision.

“Hey,” Danny plops down next to you, letting her gear bag fall beside her feet with a small thud. “You nervous?”

It’s your first college final, so you think maybe you _should_ be. Playing in middle school had been fun; in high school had been _brutal_. But college is _real_. You got a full scholarship to Silas U because you’re good, but it all rides on this moment.

And yet, strangely enough, the only thing you feel is _excitement_.

“Not really,” you shrug, pulling tighter on the strings and tying the knot on your favorite pair of skates. “I’m just ready to do some damage.”

Danny laughs as she buckles her pads in place, shaking her head at you, “You’re so full of yourself, aren’t you?”

You kick your skate against hers and rolls your eyes. It’s not like she has any right to be talking, when she often refers to herself as Danny ‘ _The Wall_ ’ Lawrence. But she’s a whole six feet of impressive goal defense and you can’t really blame her for being so confident about her skills. You are too, and that had made for difficult times back when you’d first joined the team, but, somewhere along the way, it seemed that you two had reached some sort of understanding.

“Like you’re any different,” you say, and it might not sound like a compliment, but you both know it is.

She trusts you to score the goals, just as you trust her to stop them.

Coach Hollis slips into the locker room just as you’re fixing your shoulder pads, and he looks like someone who ate too much candy and is riding a _crazy_ sugar high, but you don’t pay much attention to it. He’s a good coach, you can’t deny that, but there’s something that just doesn’t sit quite right with you, even if you can’t point out exactly _what_ that is.

It might be that you’ve always seen him at every hockey game back in high school, but he didn’t seem to give two shits that his daughter was basically a football prodigy.

Or maybe you just don’t like him because Laura Hollis is a _jerk_ and you’d rather keep yourself away from anyone that’s connected to her.

Not that it matters, in the end. You stop paying attention to him as he starts on his speech, instead slipping on your headphones and retracting to your own world. It’s not likely that he’s changed his inspirational words, and you already did him the favor of paying attention to it when you first joined the team. _You miss all of the shots you don’t take_ , he’ll say.

Yeah, you don’t need to pay attention anymore.

You listen to three songs before Danny nudges you. “Come on.” She says. She’s slipping on her jersey and you do the same, the red and yellow a stark contrast against your black hair and pale skin.

When your blades touch the ice, you feel exhilarated.

As you skate around the rink, you hear someone yelling your name and when you stop next to Danny and turn your head, you see Kirsch sitting just behind the Ravens’ bench, a grin on his lips as he waves at you like a child.

“Idiot.” Danny mutters, and you smirk as you raise your hand to quickly flip off Kirsch, which only makes his grin widen at you.

It’s only when you pull your hand back that you notice the Hollis girl sitting next to him, arms crossed against her chest and a scowl on her lips. She looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, and you’re secretly glad for this. She _should_ feel uncomfortable every now and then, especially when she’s always walking around as if she’s the greatest thing to ever step in the Silas’ halls.

But the referee’s whistle sounds and you quickly snap out of your thoughts, every image of Laura Hollis you’ve ever had for the past five years completely slipping from your head.

Nothing else matters in this moment; you have a championship to win.

 

* * *

 

“Go, Karnstein!” You yell, cupping your hands around your mouth so that the sound can carry further than the loud screeches of the group of girls sitting behind you. The coach’s daughter, sat on your right, glares at you, but you don’t care.

Carmilla’s lips curl in a smirk, and you like to think it’s because of you and _not_ because she’s thinking of ditching you after the game and scoring a piece of ass to take home.

You bite your lip; she would _kill_ you if she heard you speaking like that about the girls that she sometimes allow close enough to warm her bed a little. Well, actually, she would kill you if she knew you were even thinking about that, because you know how much she hates talking about her sexual life with you.

And you get it, really. You’re _bros_ , but you’re not like that. Carmilla is, like, crazy _complex_ , but she’s also crazy smart and, more important - crazy loyal. She might not be crazy _nice_ , but in the year that you’ve been friends with her, you came to realize that nice is overrated, anyway.

Carmilla Karnstein is sort of your hero, really.

In the back of your mind, you realize she’s probably Silas U’s hero, as well - if they way the arena is roaring as she slides over the ice is any indication.

“The Silas Ravens lead 3-2,” the narrator’s voice sounds over your head, and you lean forward in your seat as you watch Carmilla take control of the puck as she round the Ravens’ goal post, “and Karnstein speeds towards the Warrior’s defense line once again. This girl is on a roll, tonight!”

You feel as if the whole arena is holding their breath as Carmilla slips right between two players of the Warriors’ defense and still manages to keep her possession of the puck. There’s only a few minutes left and, _logically_ , you know that Silas is gonna take this one. Danny sits at the goal and she’s looking as pissed as you’ve ever seen her - probably due to the fact that the Warriors managed to breach her walls not only once, but _twice_ \- and you’re sure she’s not about to make it easier for them to even try and take this to over-time.

Not that it matters, anyway.

Carmilla is about to settle this game for good.

You cup your hands around your mouth gain, “Go, _Carmilla_!”

In the future, when you look back at this moment, you’ll remember things slowing down in that dramatic way they only seem to do in movies. It’s kind of stupid, really, because the whole thing probably happens in less than twenty seconds.

One second Carmilla is _there_ , sliding towards the Warriors’ goal post with that fierce determination that you’ve just come to associate with her, and in the next second someone is stepping in her way, forcing her to quickly turn around. And then,

_Crack_.

You don’t hear it, of course. Everything is too loud. Your eyes are trained on her, but the people around you in the arena don’t even seem to notice what is happening. But you do. You see the way her left leg shifts and twists in a way that _shouldn’t_ be normal, but you grew up watching all kinds of sports and you’re well aware of what that sight means.

And then you do hear it. You hear the scream that escapes her lips; one anguishing sound that seems to echo around you, chilling your bones to the core, and you swear everything else is just white noise.

You’re on your feet by the time her stick hits the ice.

Then, as if your heart is not already on the ground, it comes again.

_Crack_.

The strength of the impact makes her head bounce, and you can’t even help the gasp that leaves your lips as you watch her helmet crack. Bits and pieces of it fall off just as the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game.

You don’t even care that you can’t _be_ on the ice, you just have to. You have to, so you push away the stupid player who got in Carmilla’s path and you drop to her side just as Danny’s skates scrape the ice as she stops and falls on her knees, right next to you.

“ _Fuck_.” She curses, but you only seem to remember that once everything is said and done.

In that moment, you barely notice she’s there. Because Carmilla is on the ice, her knee bent in a weird way and her helmet cracked around her head and there’s _blood_ sliding down her face and all you can feel is a loud buzzing in your ears as you clench and unclench your hands, trying to think of something to do. Something to shake off this weird image, something to wake you from this nightmare.

Because this _has_ to be a nightmare. This can’t be happening.

Except that it is. It’s happening and you only notice this once her unconscious body is being taken away in a gurney and Danny is pushing you towards the back of an ambulance.

You’re waiting for her to wake up and go on one of her philosophical rants about the beauty of numbers and mathematics - spitting out all of those words that just go over your head, really - but she doesn’t. You’re waiting for this to be a prank of your idiotic best friend - because she does have a dark sense of humor - but it isn’t.

It’s real.

And suddenly, your brain registers two things:

Silas University just won the regional championship for the first time in ten years.

And Carmilla just lost everything.


	2. September - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: let the pain begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Wednesday somewhere, right?
> 
> (// are scene breaks and page breaks are POV transitions)
> 
> (Also worth noting, there is a time jump from chapter one to now. That was May, it is now a full four months later)

Your sophomore year starts with a lecture on Mathematical Logic and you can't help but be thankful for it. You have hockey practice at night and you really don't want to be thinking of how you're not gonna be able to skate or do anything other than sit on the bench and watch, so you're glad to kick off your day with numbers and rational thoughts.

That's probably the thing you love the most about mathematics; it _adds up_.

It doesn't matter how complex the problem is, or how impossible it seems to find an answer for it, you know that with the right theories and the right methods you _can_ , which is more that you can say about life - especially yours in the past year.

There's no denying you're getting better. And - yeah, maybe Kirsch's stupid self-help books had something to do with it, but you're still _scared_. And you hate to admit this, but - _Jesus_ , you feel so betrayed.

In your entire life, your body has been the one thing you could trust. It always moved when your brain told it to do so and it always performed so perfectly that you never thought there'd come a day when it just didn't _work_ the way it was supposed to.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you slip out of your private pity party to see Kirsch's name on the screen, along with that God-awful photo of him he somehow managed to set as his contact picture.

(He's flipping off the camera in it, and he'd said it was meant to look as if was giving you the finger so that you'd never forget the asshole that you are.)

(He's the biggest idiot in this world, but you can't deny you love him.)

 _dude, danny is such an asshole,_ his message says, and you can't stop the way your eyes roll at the sight of it, because Kirsch and Danny might be two of the most oblivious people you've ever met in your life - and you went to school with Lola Perry and LaFontaine, so you don't use that word lightly.

You glance at your Professor and he's going on about the fields you'll be studying in this class - set theory, model theory, recursion theory and proof theory - and you already know all about that, so you don't feel too bad when you continue to text Kirsch, content to have his petty issues with Danny distract you from your fucked up life.

_What did she do now? Insult Mr. Barks?_

He doesn't even have to text you back for you to know that he's giving you the biggest glare right now. You've been friends with Kirsch for a little over a year now and you can still remember how he'd gotten drunk at a Zeta Omega Mu party and all but begged for his stuffed puppy.

You'd taken him to his room and tucked him into bed with his prized possession; he'd taken you home on your first official college party, when you'd been too wasted to make sense of left and right, and it seemed fitting that you'd return him the favor.

He'd been annoyingly following you around ever since then.

_bro, dn't mention danny & mr b on the same sentence. thats bad luck or sum shit._

You roll your eyes, because knowing how he is with Danny, he probably already told her about the damn puppy.

Maybe if they'd get their shit together, you wouldn't have to deal with this nonsense on a daily basis.

 _Don't you have class?_ You ask him, because your Professor has moved to an actually interesting part of his lecture and you want to pay attention more than you want to deal with Kirsch's relationship issues.

His reply comes quickly. _shit, yea._ And then _, coffer later? i'll tell u what lawrence did._

You don't think it'll make much of a difference in your life knowing what Danny did, but you still agree because you need to fill your day with something and that something might as well be Kirsch.

As far as best friends go, you could have it a lot worse.

_//_

"Karnstein," Coach Hollis greets you when you finally manage to drag yourself to the rink, and you try not to read too much in the way his shoulders sag and a sigh escapes his lips, but once again you can feel the waves of self-hatred rolling through you.

You can taste something bitter on your tongue, but you manage to swallow it and let out a clipped, "Coach Hollis." As you nod at him and make your way to the bench.

It seems that he misses the cue that you’re not really in a mood to talk, because he follows you and leans against the boards, giving you a look that’s full of expectations you know you can’t fulfill and you’re already regretting showing up for practice, even though you _have_ to because - technically - you’re still a part of the team.

“How’s the physical therapy?” he asks, and you try your best not to roll your eyes at him.

If he's this tactless with his daughter, it would certainly explain the stick she has shoved so far up her ass.

“It’s going,” You shrug, and the way he grins at your words makes your stomach churn; you wish the other players would just come out of the locker room and save you from this torture.

There are words hanging on the tip of your tongue - like how you feel worse than a bag of shit ninety percent of the time now and how it hurts to do even the most basic things such as taking the stairs and running up a hill, but you keep them from spilling out, because Coach Hollis is not the person with whom you want to share these things.

You don’t want to share them with anyone, really. You already feel worthless enough as it is.

“Well,” he pulls away from the board as the other players start to emerge. “You’ll be out here soon enough, I’m sure.”

As he moves away, you bite your lip so hard that you can feel the sting of blood on your tongue. You wish you could believe his words - God knows _he does_ \-  but it’s a lie. You’re not gonna be back on the rink anytime soon, if ever. There’s nothing in the world you want more than to be slipping on your skates and feeling the weight of the ice giving in beneath your feet as your blades slice through it, but that might as well be a pipe dream for you now.

You’re _done_.

And being on this rink, attending practice as if you’ll ever be the same as you’d been before the accident, that’s _fucked up_. You’re not only fooling yourself, you’re fooling everyone else.

It’s bad enough to deal with your crumbled expectations - you don’t think you can handle anymore pressure from those who have absolutely no idea what you’re even going through.

//

It’s a Friday when Kirsch shows up to take you to your doctor’s appointment and he has to knock on your door for almost thirty minutes before you accept the fact that he’s not gonna leave you alone until he sees what state you’re in and you finally let him inside.

“What are you doing?” he asks you when he notices that you’re still in your pajamas. “We’re gonna be late, let’s go.”

You glare at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“The fuck you’re not,” he glares back, and you think maybe you’re losing your edge if he can give to you as good as he’s getting. “Get dressed.”

 _“No.”_ you bite out, crossing your arms against your chest. “You can’t make me go.”

It seems like that's _not_ the right thing to say, because Kirsch is a big person and you - well, you're not. And he uses that to his advantage when he wastes no time wrapping his arms around your legs and throwing you over his shoulder.

You thought this kind of bullshit only happened in movies, but apparently you've been wrong to underestimate how small the brain of a guy like Wilson Kirsch is.

"Kirsch," you seethe, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the way the sudden rush of blood to your brain makes you slightly dizzy. "Put me down." He doesn't move. _"Wilson."_

He shakes his head - or so you assume, from the way the muscles on his back tense and release. "You can call me that for the rest of your life, I don't care. I'm taking you to the doctor."

And you know he will, because that's how Kirsch is. He is genuinely a good guy, but it's more than that. Right now, he's the only person you have in your life - the only one who gives a damn if you're being fed, if you're going to your physical therapy and doctor's appointments.

Kirsch is the one who spent a month with you after your surgery because you were a useless piece of shit back then who couldn't even go to the bathroom by yourself.

It's the worst thing in the world for you to be treating him like this because you know that he only wants what's best for you.

So you let your arms wrap around his chest in your weird, upside-down position, and you give him a tight squeeze.

"Put me down," you say again, but you don't have any fight left in you. "I'll go change and then we can go."

He doesn't move for a moment.

"You're not gonna run and hide in the bathroom, are you?"

You can hear the teasing in his voice, and you slap his arm because _what a jerk._

"I don't think you have anything to worry about me running anywhere, dude."

He settles you down and you can see that the annoyance in his face has smoothed over, but it quickly turns into something like worry just as you feel your vision going dark.

"Woah," he grips your shoulders, holding you in place. "Are you okay?"

You take a deep breath, thankful that when you open your eyes, Kirsch is back in focus. "Just dizzy."

"Shit." His eyes are wide. "Sorry, bro, I totally didn't even realize-"

You wave a hand at him, making sure that your legs are steady before you start moving to your room. "Don't worry. Guess you were right about the doctor though, right?"

He looks like a kicked puppy when you close the door to change and he doesn't look much better when you walk out of your room, clad in your favorite pair of black pants, boots and a denim button-up.  

"Seriously," you roll your eyes, picking up your sunglasses and your phone. "Stop pouting. You're a grown ass man, that shit is embarrassing. That's why you can't get Danny to go on a date with you."

"Fuck you, dude, I don't want to go on a date with Summer Psycho," he shoves his hands on his pocket. "I'm kinda thinking of asking SJ, though. You think maybe she would go for it?"

You remember SJ as the girl from one of his classes last year and you have a feeling she's on the soccer team, but you don't pay much attention to soccer as a general rule, so you're not really sure. Not that it matters, anyway. SJ would be lucky to have a guy like Kirsch.

But you don't tell him that, of course.

"If she knows what's good for her," you open the door, walking out before him. "She'll say no and drop you on your ass."

Kirsch narrows his eyes at you, taking his keys out of his pocket as you both wait for the elevator. "You're an asshole, did you know that?"

"I did."

"Well, just making sure."

As the two of you walk out of your building, you throw him a smirk. He flips you off and unlocks the door of his car, and when you slip in he reaches over and ruffles your hair in that annoying big brother way that he has when it comes to you.

You want to slap his hand away, but you let him have this moment.

Just this once, though. Can't have him getting used to it.

//

Your life becomes a blur of classes, practices you have to watch and hanging out with Kirsch. It's boring and so much of the same thing that you feel your sanity slipping away with each day that goes by.

(You weren't that good after the accident, to begin with. Now it's just gotten a thousand times worse.)

It's as if everything makes you _angry_.

The way Danny keeps missing the shots Betty and Natalie send her way, which she shouldn't be doing in the first place because Betty is okay, but Natalie is as shitty a player as they get and Danny is better than that. It doesn't matter that it's only practice and you'll be playing a couple of exhibition games, not to mention a _whole season_ , before you even get to the actual championship.

And then there are Kirsch's books. You thought they'd been helping and you appreciated his gesture but if you have to read anything else about how you can't push your body further than it can go or that you need to find a new pace for your life, you're gonna fling yourself off the nearest bridge and just end this torture once and for all.

The doctor's said you were gonna be fine and you'd be back at the rink in no time but you've recently came to the conclusion that they've been _lying_. Because you're not getting better.

(But you _are_ losing your mind.)

"Ugh!" You groan, kicking a stone from your path and wincing before you can even feel the pain that you know is gonna come from your knee.

There's all there's left for you these days.

The pain.

"What are you doing?" Someone asks you, and when you turn your back, of course Laura freaking Hollis is standing behind you.

"None of your business." You tell her, pulling your Letterman closer to your body. It's warmer here than it'd been back at the rink, but you still keep it around yourself, like an armor.

(You try not to dwell on the fact that you don't even feel worthy of it anymore.)

She shrugs, "Suit yourself."

"What are _you_ doing?" You ask instead, and you shift to relieve some of the pressure on your ruined knee.

Her eyes flip towards it at the motion, but she only pulls her gaze back to you, and her expression is the perfect picture of arrogance.

It makes you wish upon her everything that's happened to you and you know you wouldn't wish this even on your worst enemy.

For some reason, you want Laura Hollis to suffer.

"Practice." She answers and you notice that she’s supporting a bike with one hand and clutching a lanyard in the other. Her grip on the bike tightens and you look back up at her at the motion. "It's that thing some of us actually get to attend instead of watching from the bench."

And that does it. You've been trying to keep it together for almost four months now, trying to make the best of your situation without letting it drag you into the pits of self-loathing and depression, but Laura Hollis being an arrogant asshole is more than you can handle.

You take two steps towards her and you have every intention of decking her right in that pretty little nose of hers, everything else be damned.

"Carmilla." You hear, and when you stop seeing red and your gaze focus again, you realize that Kirsch has slipped between the two of you. "Don't."

You try to push at him, "Just let me-"

But he shakes his head and he grips your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. "She's not worth it. She's just talking shit, bro. It's what she does."

And it's true. You don't remember her ever being like this when you were younger, but there had been rumors about some shit going down with her around sophomore year and she just became this fucked up robot that doesn't give two shits about anything other than how many goals she can score in ninety minutes.

You've never cared, but you never quite went at each other like this.

Kirsch seems to take your moment of distraction as an opportunity, because he turns to Laura and grits out a clipped, "Leave. Now. Or she'll get you so bad you won't be stepping in a football field for at least a month."

The idea is tempting; maybe then she'd stop being such a bitch. But Laura seems to think that's not a good thing, because she doesn't waste anytime leaving the two of you alone. She gets on her bike, rounds the parking lot, and disappears in the darkness and finally Kirsch lets go of you, but only to knock his fist against your shoulder.

"Come on."

He starts walking back to the building you left and you're confused, because he was supposed to be picking you up and taking you home.

"Where are you going, you fucker?"

You don't want to follow him. You want to go home and find one of the vodka bottles you've lately been keeping stashed at every available surface of your apartment and just forget that this night ever happened. You wanna forget about your knee, your head, Laura Hollis - everything.

You just want the escape you find in the bottom of a bottle, because that's the only thing that's been making sense in your life lately.

But Kirsch seems to have other plans, because he drags you to the University gym and moves to the locker room, coming back with a pair of boxing gloves.

"What is this?" You ask him as he hands them to you.

"What you need." He says, motioning to the punchbag that's hanging in the middle of the room.

He takes handwraps from his pocket and takes your hand, wrapping it around them before he slips in the gloves and pulls the straps tight against your wrist.

"Come on." He grips the bag and taps it twice. "Have at it."

You look at him as if he's an idiot.

" _Carmilla_." Kirsch sighs. "Just punch the damn bag."

And maybe it's a freaking stupid idea, but you do. You hit it once and you hit it twice and then you lose it.

You think of tearing your ACL.

(Punch.)

You think of your head hitting the ice and your helmet cracking and the blood spilling down your face.

(Punch.)

You think of self-help books and painkillers and the scar that still sits angry and red on your knee.

(Punch.)

You think of not being able to skate, feeling as if your body is gonna give out under you with every step you taking.

(Punch.)

You think of not feeling worth of anything anymore.

(Punch.)

And you think of Laura Hollis and her smug face and her annoyingly healthy legs.

_(Punch. Punch. Punch.)_

You only notice that you're crying when you feel Kirsch's arms wrapped around you and you realize that you're both on the floor. Your body is shaking and you feel Kirsch's chest pressed against your face - strong and secure and you try to focus on that instead of the way it's growing increasingly hard for you to breathe.

Kirsch doesn't say anything - he just keeps holding you. He holds you as you cry for everything that you lost, for every part of you that you left that day on the ice and that you'll never get back. He holds you as you cry out your anger and frustration at the world and he holds you as you finally accept that books and doctors appointments aren't magically going to put you back together.

He holds you as you cry and he helps you realize that you're still alive.

And you have to start acting like it.

//

You start running again the next day.

The doctor has cleared you for it for a while now and you've been building strength by squatting, but you've always liked running and lately you'd just been too afraid to do that.

But you're done being afraid.

So you accept small defeats and change your route, but you run. And you can't even do your usual laps or your usual time, but you don't let the bitterness in your brain take over you again. You're done feeling sorry for yourself.

And when you run past Laura Hollis' house and you see her take a second glance at you, eyes slightly wide and _surprised_ , you feel better than you've had in all of your months of recovery.

 

* * *

 

The year has barely started when you come to the conclusion that your lectures are _boring_. The professors rant about anything and everything but all you want is to be out on the field, exercising and keeping your body in shape for your first season as team captain.

You're only a sophomore and you have the most coveted spot on the team; you can't fuck that up.

And sitting in Physics 101 is certainly not the most productive way to spend your time. But you have an attendance record to keep, so you sigh and you cut your run shorter than you'd wish so that you can make it to class in time.

"Hey pumpkin." Your dad greets you when you get back, and you wrinkle your nose when you notice a cup of coffee sitting for you on the table.

You walk past it and open the fridge, pulling out another bottle of water instead.

"Hi Dad." You lean back against the counter.

He looks at you and his brows furrow as if he's thinking of something to say, but then he just shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee and you hate the sigh that escapes your lips at his lack of _trying_ , but you can't help it anyway.

So you cap your bottle and you run up the stairs, rushing into the shower and not bothering to step out of it until you hear the sound of the door slamming as your father leaves for the day.

You don't know why you even bother anymore.

//

You're stretching in the field when your teammates finally make their way out of the locker room.

Perry and LaFontaine are giggling at something and you have to glance twice at SJ because it's not actually possible that she's - no, she _is_ on her phone.

"SJ!" You call, and she actually holds up a finger at you, but doesn't make any motions to hang up.

You feel your cheeks growing hot and it has nothing to do with the sun over your head and everything to do with her blatant disrespect.

How are you supposed to keep this team together if they keep behaving like this? It's no wonder you're the one who's been carrying it on your back for the past year.

They'd be lost without you.

"Hey, L." LaFontaine pats you on the back and you can’t help but feel annoyed at the way they seem to behave so carelessly, as if they have no responsibility in this world. “Relax. It’s only our first practice, let’s just have some fun, yeah?”

Your eyes narrow at them, “It’s my first practice as _captain,”_ you run a hand through your hair, blowing out a heavy sigh. “I can’t relax, LaF.”

“Laura,” Perry pulls you close and you want to feel safe and warm the way you used to in her arms, but that feeling is long gone. All that’s left is the uncomfortableness that makes your skin prickle. You try to breathe and you can’t, because suddenly it’s all _too much._

“No,” you pull back, shaking your head. “ _No._ We need to focus. I need you guys to be stretching and getting ready right now. This chit-chat is not gonna get us a championship.”

“L-” LaFontaine tries again, but Perry shakes her head at them.

“Don’t, babe,” she says. She throws you a glance that’s a mixture of sadness and disappointment and you want to feel something at it, but you just _don’t_. You’re so used to that look - from your father, from your peers, from your _friends_ \- that it doesn’t even faze you anymore.

It just goes to show that no matter what you do, you’ll never be enough.

For anyone.

//

You sometimes hate your brain because you can’t seem to be able to just _shut it off._ You’ve always been a hyperactive kid and it’s always been difficult for you to focus on things as a general rule, but lately it seems that your brain is working extra hard to keep reminding you that you’re not working hard enough and that without sacrifice there’s no gain.

But then you started running.

And you soon found out that when your feet hits the ground on a steady rhythm and your body builds momentum as it pushes forward, and forward, and _forward_ \- all of that disappears.

It’s euphoric. And - scientifically, you know that’s accurate, but it’s more than just a rush. It’s finally feeling like your life makes sense, like you can do whatever you want and nothing is going to go wrong. It’s feeling like you’re finally _worth_ of something, even though people have tried again and again show you that you aren’t.

And any other time, you accept that. You accept that you’re not doing enough and that you could be _better_ ; but when you’re running, you just don’t care. It all slips away from your brain and you feel as if you could open your wings and fly - fly away from this town, from this place that holds so many bitter memories. This place that’s made of so many _almost_ s and _good enough_ s, but never _congratulations;_ never _I’m proud of you._

That is why you run.

So you can’t even bring yourself to care when LaFontaine tells you that you’re pushing yourself too hard.

Because they don’t understand.

“Dude,” they sigh one day when they see you slipping on the field again after practice. “Stop doing that shit to yourself.”

You narrow your eyes at them, _“LaFontaine.”_

But they seem to be heavily inspired today, because they only shake their head and move closer to you, “Don’t ‘LaFontaine’ me, Laura.” They run a hand through their hair and look towards the parking lot. When you follow their gaze,  you’re not surprised to see Perry there, arms crossed against her chest and leaning against their truck.

(You ignore the way her eyes are narrowed and she’s watching the entire scene like a hawk.)

“I know what I’m doing.” You tell them, eyes shifting towards the field. This conversation is taking precious time  you could be using to run.

But they don’t seem convinced, “Are you sure you do? Because they way I see it, you're just exhausting yourself for the heck of it!"

It's not the first time they've told you this and it won't be the last. LaFontaine and Perry have been your friends for as long as you can remember, but they just don't get it.

(And they should. Out of everyone in your life, you expected them to understand what you go through everyday.)

"Just go home, LaF." You sigh. "Maybe if you tried half as hard as I did we wouldn't be in this position."

They narrow their eyes at you, "What is that supposed to mean?"

But you're done with this conversation. You're done with people always making you feel as if nothing you do is ever good enough. And you love LaFontaine - or at least you did, once upon a time - but sometimes it feels as if you're speaking different languages.

So you start running and you leave them behind. You hear an echo of "Laura!" behind you, but you don't look back.

Instead you run, and you let it all slip from your mind. You soon forget about LaFontaine, Perry and your responsibilities and you focus on actually doing something right for once.

You run for hours and you don't stop until it's very late. You can't remember when you last ate and you feel slightly woozy, not to mention your feet have been hurting and you can feel the sting of newly-formed blisters on your skin.

You try not to wince at the sight of the blood on your feet when you pull off your socks.

It's a small price to pay for greatness, you think.

//

So maybe sometimes you can't get a hold of your words.

It has happened time and time again - sometimes it's harmless, and other times, well - isn't.

Snapping at Carmilla the way you do is probably the worst of the events concerning your lack of brain to mouth filter.

And you don't even feel bad for her. You don't. She's always been a rock in your shoes and it's not like any of your interactions have ever been nice. So you can't really bring yourself to feel sorry - not even a little bit, and certainly not as much as you probably should.

But you're still surprised to actually see Carmilla running past your house one morning when you're stretching to start your route.

Her figure is all off and she's favoring her right leg and you can see from the way that she sometimes skips a step that her knee probably isn't making things easy for her.

But still she pushes past you; all labored breath and stiff limbs and you actually have to take a second glance at her to make sure that your eyes aren't deceiving you.

They aren't. She's actually running again.

//

One day she runs past you and you're so surprised that you stop dead in your tracks, because you're still not used to her invading your space like this.

It feels like high school all over again - except now she's the one chasing your shadow instead of the other way around.

"What?" She asks when she notices you've stopped. "I know you want to hog the spotlight, but this is not a football field, Hollis."

And it surprises you so much that she's actually talking to you that you don't even register the insult. Instead, you look at the way her hips are cocked and she's still not putting any weight on her left leg and you realize that you've insulted her once already and you're still alive, so you might as well go for it again.

"Stop being such a chickenshit."

She opens her mouth, shakes her head and throws her hands up in the air. "What the _fuck_ are you even on about?"

You nod towards her leg. "It's not gonna collapse. Stop holding back."

Carmilla locks her jaw at you and you think this time she is gonna punch you because there's no way her annoying best friend is about to show up out of thin air, but she just narrows her eyes at you and then rolls her eyes.

"Holy shit, you're so fucked up."

And you already know that. You don't need yet another person telling you. So you just grip tighter on your bottle of water and you run past her - up the hill where you know she can't follow you yet.

When you get to the top and you glance down, you see Carmilla heading in the other direction. Her weight is divided evenly between her legs and she's not stumbling like a drunken fool anymore.

(But whatever. It's not like you care.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and see you next week!


	3. October - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: Carmilla likes math and something with Laura doesn't add up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're pretty bad at sticking to an update schedule. As always, thank you for taking the time to read!

Kant said that the only things that really matter are quantities and not qualities. You know this; you’ve been studying his _Philosophy of Mathematics_ for years, but you have never disagreed so strongly with that concept than you do now, watching Laura Hollis’ ponytail swinging out in front of you as the sun rises in the east.

(She runs funny. Her shoulders drop a little after each step and you can’t work out for the life of you why she does that. You file it away as something you can insult her about later, though.)

(It's weird that that's actually a thing you two do now; openly insult each other. Sometimes it even feels as if you're having a conversation, and that thought makes you slightly uncomfortable.)

You think of vectors and how they require the use of qualities in order for them to make sense. Laura Hollis running five kilometers, or however many she runs in the mornings because she’s a _fucking robot_ , means a lot less than Laura Hollis running two kilometers south, then turning to run about half a kilometer in the north west direction before heading north east for the rest of the distance and finishing at her front door.

You like to think qualities make the numbers make sense because you run a significantly slower and smaller triangle than her, but you’re also recovering or _healing,_ as one of the self-help books Kirsch still thrusts under your nose puts it, and she’s a well-oiled machine.

It's taken you a while to realize this, _but qualities make a difference,_ you repeat in your head as she heads up the hill you haven’t even dreamt of conquering, _qualities are the only reason I can’t keep up._

//

You think of the Cartesian Plane the next day when you have to walk half of your run route because your knee starts acting up.

You are - in terms of years and sports productivity - a line with your fair share of spikes both in the upward and downward direction. Hollis, you know from unfortunately attending the same high school as her, is a curve skyrocketing upwards as the years go on.

She’s soccer’s wunderkind. She's also an asshole, but that's not how people ever describe her anyway.

You have never seen her play, partly because you resent her tendency to be a show-off off the field and you can’t imagine how much worse she’d be on it, but she's got quite the reputation for being one of the best this stupid college town has ever seen.

It makes you wonder, sometimes, how she keeps going the rate she is. What kind of steely motivation keeps her this determined to get better when she seems like she’s already at her peak? It doesn’t match the so-sunny-it-has-to-be-fake persona she’s got going on when she’s with a group of friends either.

She runs past you then, and throws a ragged, “Hey, slowpoke,” over her shoulder.

The line graph of Laura Hollis’s attitude, you decide, is forever trending in the negatives.

//

You push past the pain later on in the week because you are done with the way she breezes effortlessly past you the moment your knee cramps up.

(You've been done ever since she said you were holding back.)

She looks over at you in what you could interpret as either concern or smugness when you finally fall back of her after a few minutes and it makes you want to push harder and harder despite how much pain you’re in.

But at the same time, you know it’s not good to do that. And you know that your body can fall apart any minute if you keep it up, so you let her have her victory and you cut your losses.

Later, when you’re walking and she is passing you for her second go-round, she tosses a water bottle at you.

“Bring your own next time.” She says, grimacing probably at the fact that you’re not taking care of yourself to the best of your athletic ability. “It’ll help.”

//

The season starts two days later.

You’ve known the minute after you got surgery that you aren’t going to be ready any time before the New Year.

And yes, it has been difficult for you to accept that in the past few months, but you know it's an inevitability. You know this as well as you know linear algebra and Kant’s ridiculously overly wordy explanations of mathematics.

When the time comes for the team to hit the ice for the first time, though, and you’re forced to watch from the stands, it breaks you open again because you _should be_ out there, celebrating as your previous season’s championship banner is raised to the rafters and getting excited to begin the hunt again. Yet, here you are, squished in between the school newspaper’s sports columnist and an old woman who doesn’t seem like she’s all there in the head anymore. You wish Kirsch had been able to ditch his night class so that he could sit in misery with you.

The opposing goalie shuts out the team and that adds insult to injury because you know you could have been the difference in this game. You sit in the dressing room afterwards while Coach Hollis preaches his _shoot more_ philosophy and Danny just hangs her head, as she sometimes does after losses.

You go over to her and give her a pat on the shoulder before walking home. The cool air feels nice on your skin and it’s colder in the rink than outside for once so you don’t even feel uncomfortable in just your jeans and a single jacket. It isn’t raining either and you can actually kind of see the stars. It’s always comforting to see how small your problems are in comparison.

But that’s the kind of bullshit you usually reserve for after losses that you participate in and the extra bitterness you can taste in your tongue seems more like frustration than anything.

You call Kirsch; you need to hit something.

//

A few days later, you’re sitting around, watching TV and generally trying not to think about hockey when Kirsch texts you _hey stupid, I’m coming over_.

At first you think that that’s a good idea because yeah, you are being a bit too broody right now and stewing in your problems has always been a weakness for you so you don’t reply, knowing he’ll take it as invitation. As you wait for him to arrive, though, you start to feel like maybe being broody by yourself is what you want to do tonight, but there’s a knock at your door before you can pick up the phone and tell him not to come over. He must have come in while someone else was heading out of the building because you didn’t even buzz him up.

“Hey, Pythagoras.” He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and you think _oh god please no more of the stupid self-help books._ “Brought you something.”

“About that.” He is inside and making himself at home on the couch before you can try and stop him from entering and so you shut the door and walk over to him. “First of all, I don’t need any more of those self-help books and second, I’m not feeling company right now, so you can leave.”

He squints up at you.

“But you didn’t reply.”

“Silence doesn’t mean yes, you turd.”

“I know that.” He rolls his eyes and you smirk a little at the fact that he picked that habit up from you. “But when you have positive things to say, you usually keep your mouth shut.”

“Touché.”

“And those books helped you get better, so don’t even pretend you didn’t like them.” He’s still scrutinizing you. _“Living on Crutches for Dummies_ was really hard to find, too.”

“Fine. They weren’t bad.” You cross your arms. “Now leave.”

“Okay.” He stands and you hate yourself a little because he’s so good to you and you keep pushing him away. “I’ll see you next week, then.”

He walks slowly towards the door and, when he gets halfway there, turns to look at you. There is a knowing smile on his face, but he keeps dragging his feet along and you know that he knows this is making you feel sorry for him, but you can’t build your resistance up again so quickly.

“Goddamnit.” You say, throwing your arms up. “Fine, fine. You can stay.”

“Thanks, you big softie.” He is full on grinning now. “But we’re actually both leaving.”

“I am not going out.” You cross your arms again. “It’s eleven-thirty at night.”

Kirsch scoffs.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before. Besides,” He reaches behind him to unzip the bag and you can’t help your eyes widening at the sight of your skates. “I broke into the dressing rooms to steal these for you, you gotta use them.”

You are not anywhere near medically cleared to skate, but after yet another shitty day as today, you think you can bend some rules and so you don’t protest at all during the drive to the arena.

Kirsch takes a helmet out of his bag and offers it to you after you finish tying your skates and the sight of the black helmet with your number thirteen stuck proudly on the back makes something rise up in your throat.

You remember exactly what happened last time you had a helmet on.

“Put it on, you chicken. Come on.” Kirsch pushes you gently towards the ice. “This is a skate and run.”

You glare at him, but you put the helmet on. Chin strap, left cage strap, right cage strap. Done.

(It's not gonna bite you.)

Kirsch opens the bench door and you can feel your palms sweating and so you stick them in your jacket pockets and you take a few deep breaths. This is fine, you’re not going to collapse like a rag doll.

It’s _fine._

Kirsch rolls his eyes at you and pushes you back a little so he can step out onto the ice before you.

“Come on, Carmilla. Let’s go. I am not going to jail for trespassing because you didn’t have the guts to do a few laps before campus security got here.” He spreads his arms out wide. “You scared of a little ice, bro?”

You’re not. _You’re not._ You're done second-guessing yourself.

You walk over and try to talk yourself into stepping onto the ice, but you get short of breath and so you try again and again _again_ until Kirsch says, “Just take a run at it.”

You nod at him and you walk all the way to the mouth of the tunnel that leads to the dressing rooms and you close your eyes and pretend you’re on the street, Laura Hollis running in front of you and all.

It’s two long strides and then the next thing you know, your blades are hitting ice and it feels like _coming home._

You do a lap by yourself and you can’t help the smile that makes its way onto your face when you lean on the outside edge of your blades and nothing feels off in your legs. There’s never been a sweeter feeling.

“You done being a sap?” Kirsch calls out from where he’s still standing on the blue line. He has his arms crossed, but he’s smiling too. “I’ll race you.”

“Bring it, puppy.”

//

Being able to skate makes you soft.

That’s the only explanation you can really think of anyways after Kirsch manages to rope you into accompanying him to watch his girlfriend, or whatever because if they were serious you’d have actually officially met the girl by now, play soccer on Sunday evening.

You don’t notice Sarah Jane all match. Instead, you get a full ninety minutes of being able to stare at Laura Hollis, who manages the ball like a magician. The audience gets behind her, too, cheering her on. No Coach Hollis in the crowd though, which is strange,  but isn’t at the same time. The man is a complete mystery.

Hollis plays like a robot, as expected, but she controls the pace of the game so well that you can’t help but be impressed.

She zips around the field in the same way she basically sprints in the mornings and her tenacity eventually pays off with a goal and an assist, leading her team to a two to nothing victory. You’re still slightly bitter that she is completely healthy.

“Dude. SJ played awesome.” Kirsch says afterwards as the two of you lean against his car, waiting for his girlfriend to exit the locker room.

“Yeah.” You’re not really paying attention to him because you’re watching the shadow of a girl jogging the track that loops around the pitch. The big lights are so bright that the face of the girl is completely washed out, but the little shoulder drops seem familiar enough and you’d know that ponytail anywhere, but why would Laura Hollis be running directly after a match?

You’re still watching the steady pace of the jogger when Kirsch introduces you to SJ, who waves a hand in front of your face.

“Hello?” She giggles and you want to roll your eyes, but Kirsch seems completely taken with her so you refrain.

“Why is she running right after she just played?”

SJ turns her head to see where you’re looking and scoffs.

“She’s a robot, _duh._ ” At this point, Kirsch bites at her ear and you do roll your eyes because _gross._ “That’s Laura for you, always trying to get better.”

Except the way she just seems to be running without any discipline looks like anything other than a thirst for being _better._ She's just running - almost maniacally so - and under these bright lights you can’t help but think that something about Laura Hollis just doesn’t add up.

 

* * *

 

Running in the mornings has been a part of your routine since - 

Well, since one morning in January when you were sixteen and you had nothing but the horizon to live for.

It's always been a solitary thing for you. Something you did to clear your mind, to make yourself feel good about anything before you get yourself ready for a day that will most likely turn to shit. Just you and your iPod and the sound of your feet beating against pavement. You run down your street before turning to run up the small hill and turning once again for the home stretch. There used to be a time when you'd watch Carmilla Karnstein run up the big hill without breaking a sweat as you ran by on the street perpendicular, but ever since the injury, she sticks to level grounds.

You try and shake how much the slight change in your routine bothers you because she'll be doing it again soon enough, scaling the big hill as you run the street, but ever since - you haven't been the best at routine changes since -  
  
This is why you run.  
  
//

At first, you were utterly unimpressed by the lack of speed and strength your father's star player possessed.  
  
It's clear after a few days, however, that you'd underestimated exactly how much of her slow stride can be attributed to the fact that she's not at her best. You want to see her at her best.

(You think maybe that's why you keep pushing her.)

You want her running up the big hill as you run by, you want your routine to be normal again.  
  
So you tossed her a bottle of water.  
  
//

Instead of coming to the year's first hockey game, you opt to attend a party at one of the houses on campus with some people you met in your compulsory English class.  
  
You don't drink - you work hard enough in order to be able to eat however many cookies you want without it showing on the field and you're not about to risk your game for a temporary buzz that you can easily get from running - but you do like to get yourself picked up by girls. And parties are full of girls.  
  
One in particular eyes you as soon as you walk in, but you're not about to make the first move, so you sit on the couch with a glass of water in your hand, letting the conversation flow around you until one of the girls from English leans over and says, "Laura oh my god, that chick's been looking at you all night."  
  
She giggles and drunkenly informs everyone else sitting around you of this fact, but you raise your eyes to the girl and you know immediately that it's time for you to leave.  
  
It sends pinpricks of electricity down your arms when someone looks at you like she's been doing all night. It doesn't have anything to do with her personally, you've gone through enough girls to know it's never about any of them, but more about the release they so willingly grant you.  
  
You don't do a lot of talking as she drags you back to her dorm room and she's got nimble hands that manage to stay steady as they pop open the buttons of your shirt. She's a quick fuck and one orgasm later, you're already ready to leave.  
  
Sex is a release. Just like soccer, except that it's all about the results and not the path you take to get there. When you play, you have to play perfect, but sex is messy and not about making the right decisions.  
  
It's bottled chaos you can take a sip of without disrupting the order in your life and you need it every now and then.  
  
//

You don't run on Saturday because your body needs to be fully rested for Sunday afternoon's opening game, and you're still healing from your extra runs in the past few weeks. Your team has had two friendlies so far and easily won both, but regular matches always prove to be a challenge and you want to be in peak physical condition.  
  
You do get up early though, because your body clock is used to it and so you and your Dad sit together at the kitchen island. He has the paper open to the sports section and a mug of coffee in his right hand.  
  
"You coming to the game, Dad?" You hate asking, but there's always been a part of you that cares about what he thinks when it comes to the way you play.  
  
He puts the mug down and you spoon some more cereal in your mouth because you immediately know that that's a bad sign.  
  
"I wish I could, pumpkin." He sighs and looks anywhere but at you. "But we lost on Friday night and I have work to do before practice on Monday."  
  
"I get it." You say even though it always kind of stings when he doesn't show up. Maybe it wouldn't hurt this much if you just stopped asking.

"Next one." He promises, still not looking at you.  
  
Yeah, next one. You've heard that one before. You heard it in high school when he skipped your games to recruit Carmilla Karnstein, you heard it freshman year when he was too busy watching hockey.  
  
You try not to let that bother you.  
  
//

You run because when you do, the beating of your heart drowns out the chatter in your brain.

You play soccer because it feels good to be so skilled that you're leaving opponents behind instead of the other way around.

When you've got all your gear on, you stand and stretch a little in front of your locker. The team are in various states of readiness. LaFontaine is reading a book, their cleats still untied. Lola Perry is sat beside them, hands neatly folded in her lap, completely ready. You nod to her before reaching up to tighten your ponytail.

Things have gone back to normal now that they've given up trying to parent you.

You're a little nervous, which is strange because you've done this a million times before, but this is your first game as captain and like it or not, you've come to realize that means a lot. You smooth the fabric of your shirt and try to concentrate on visualizing the game in your mind, but the captain's armband feels a little heavy around your bicep and you fiddle with it a bit before Perry looks over at you and smiles.

"It's perfectly normal." She says, walking over and patting your shoulder. "It's all in your brain if it feels strange or funny."  
  
You feel like it does, but you don't want to tell her that so you shake your head.  
  
"I have this handled."  
  
"It's normal, Laura, to feel a little uncertain of yourself." She frowns. "And you don't need to play perfectly all of the time - "  
  
"I said I've got this, Perry."  
  
She looks unconvinced.  
  
"If you ever change your mind. You can talk to me or LaFontaine." Perry makes a show of walking away from you and you tweak the armband again while she isn't looking. "You overwork your body and it isn't good for you or the rest of us who want to win, you know."

(Maybe they're not as over everything as you thought they were.)

You continue on with your stretches until the coach finishes talking tactics. He claps you on the shoulder before he heads out of the locker room and you think maybe you should say a few words, but Perry starts and finishes before you can even begin to think of what to say.  
  
The team is excited. You can feel it as you all walk down the tunnel and out onto the field. The stands are practically full and the sun feels warm on your skin, but not overly so. It's nice to see people proudly sporting school colors in support. Perfect game conditions.  
  
SJ waves enthusiastically at the crowd and when you look in the direction of her waving, Carmilla Karnstein's bored expression comes into view. She's sitting next to her hockey fanatic friend who is waving back at SJ and you roll your eyes because the two of them won't stop.  
  
"Sarah Jane." You hiss at her. "Focus."  
  
"Don't be such a robot, Laura." She giggles, but blows her latest boy a kiss and stops waving nonetheless. " _We are going to win tonight_. Come on, loosen up."  
  
You return her playful shove and it does kind of ease your worries, how confident the rest of the team seems to be. They're all business by kickoff though and the well-oiled machine you're a part of easily begins to control the game.  
  
You're on autopilot from the moment the game starts and it's all muscle memory, every touch of the ball, every call for a pass. You celebrate a goal the same way as all the others, but when a pass hits LaFontaine's boot and goes in, you allow yourself a genuine smile.  
  
"Nice cross, Hollis." They say, ruffling your hair and it feels playful and normal and makes your smile widen. "Barely had to move for that."  
  
"It had to be a good one, I knew you weren't running up for it."  
  
"Shut up, jerk."  
  
You win by two, which is cause for celebration, but you can't help but think of the wide open net you end up missing before the final whistle.  
  
_How can the team win when their captain can't even capitalize on simple chances? What kind of stupid idiot misses that big of a net anyway?_

You don't hang your head because this is a _win_ and everyone else is in happy spirits. You do tie your cleats up again while they head off to the showers though.  
  
"Where are you going?" Perry asks as you stand.  
  
"I'm feeling a jog tonight."  
  
LaF cuts in, "Laura, this isn't - "  
  
"I know what I'm doing." You slip off the armband and leave it in your stall. "Take your showers."

(So much for things going back to normal.)

//

For the big Halloween party, you dress up as some blonde girl from a TV show you haven't even heard of. You're a little late, but you make it work. It's in one of the frat houses on campus and you wince when you walk in because it absolutely reeks of spilled alcohol and sweat.  
  
You don't like going to these, you prefer smaller gatherings, but two more good wins after the opener later, you think you deserve some fun.  
  
The music is loud and you can barely hear yourself think as you slink through the crowd. Carmilla Karnstein slips by you and you have to roll your eyes because seriously, she's _everywhere_.  
  
"Clarke of the Sky People." She says, picking at the collar of your jacket. You slap her hand away and you can smell the alcohol on her breath. "Impressive."  
  
"Hands off, dead girl."  
  
"I'm Wednesday." She spreads her arms out as if showing herself off. "Like it?"  
  
"Your braid looks tacky."  
  
She laughs.  
  
"I'm drinking away my hockey sorrows." Carmilla almost falls back and you immediately reach out to steady her. "What are you doing here, cutie?"  
  
"Don't call me that, slowpoke."  
  
"You need some tequila to loosen that stick up your ass, don't you?" She squints at you and holds out the plastic cup in her hand. You push at her shoulders.  
  
"That's disgusting. I don't drink."  
  
"Your loss." She says, backing up towards the front and the, you assume, refill station. "I'm still impressed by the costume, Princess."  
  
You shake your head and continue fighting through the crowd. You can survive on your own, but you'd rather find some people to group together with in the dance floor. It's dark, but you do end up managing to spot LaFontaine and Perry sitting on a couch together. You plop yourself down in between them.  
  
LaF clucks their tongue at you when they see you.  
  
"Would have taken you for an Octavia type of girl."  
  
"I don't know who that is." You answer immediately.  
  
"Educate yourself when you get home."  
  
You ignore them and smile before pulling at both of theirs and Perry's hands.  
  
"Come on." You say. "Let's dance."  
  
//  
  
There's a girl by the end of the night.  
  
There's always a girl.  
  
All of them - they're not stupid, they know you're only in it for a fuck and run, but they want you and that's fine.  
  
It's a release. It's fun. It’s mindless and effortless and it makes you feel like you're worth more than your feet beating against pavement and your cleats digging against grass.  
  
It's routine.

And honestly, you’ve always hated change. 


	4. November - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: one step forward, a million steps back, and then one more step forward.

“So you really have no idea who Clarke of the Sky People is?"

You are slightly shocked by Carmilla’s presence beside you, a full two blocks from where you thought you’d left her behind after handing her one of your old water bottles from your days playing for a community team.

You flick at the wire of your right ear bud so that it falls away.

“No. Never heard of that name until I bought the costume.”

“See, I thought that’d be right up your alley.” She’s panting and you know she’s about to fall behind again very soon. “Considering how much of a television nerd you were in high school – “

You almost freeze at her mention of television because that used to be something you and your –

 _No_.

“You don’t know me.”

A slow smirk appears on her face.

“Did I strike a nerve?”

You don’t want to talk to her or about high school anymore, so you speed up.

And you run away.

//

“Why are you still so upset about high school?” She drawls at you, breathing like she can’t get enough air in her lungs. You notice she’s got your old water bottle in one hand.

You had found the bottle left outside your front door after you came back from your run yesterday and you’d filled it up before heading out today because somehow, giving Carmilla water – practically taking care of Carmilla – has fallen into your routine.

“Carmilla, shut up.”

“It was two years ago – “

“Almost four.” You correct her without thinking and her eyes narrow like she’s trying to solve a difficult math equation.

“What happened to you?” She breathes out and you don’t want to do this. You _don’t_. It breaks you open in so many ways just thinking about it and it’s safer to keep it locked up inside you where it can’t spread to any other part of your life.

“I’m not doing this with you.”

“Suit yourself.” She says and the two of you run in silence for another block before she falls behind.

//

“So soccer.” You look over at her and her face is flushed with color. You sigh and remove your ear buds again because she’s been keeping up longer with you every day and even you can appreciate progress when you see it. “What makes you offside?”

“How do you not know the offside rule?”

“Uh, because it’s stupid?”

“It’s simple. I’m sure you can figure it out yourself.”

“I can’t even figure _you_ out, cutie.” She squeezes some water into her mouth. “And here I thought _I_ had an air of mystery.”

“Maybe if you talked less and regulated your breathing more, we’d be running together longer.” She smiles a little and you smile back before you can think about it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She says just before the small hill comes into view and it’s only then that you realize she kept up with your fastest stride on flat ground.

Maybe you can get used to having her come along.

//

It’s raining the next day.

You don’t bring your iPod with you because Carmilla spends the majority of the run babbling in your ear anyways and as soon as you walk up to the street corner where you begin your run, she gets started.

“Do you run on the weekends?”

“Not when I have games.” You hand her the water bottle and she takes it from you without acknowledgement.

“You play Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

You get to the point where you always begin to speed up and you can’t help but look over at Carmilla when you do because there’s something about the way she transitions to the new speed that is absolutely fascinating.

She doesn’t talk the rest of the way until you get to the hill.

“I’ll be there.” Is all she says.

//

You sit at the kitchen island with your Dad again come Saturday morning and this time you don’t even have to ask before he puts his mug down and folds his paper up.

“I can’t come to the game tomorrow, Laura.” He says, looking to your left and not directly at you. “Maybe – "

“Maybe next time.” You cut in before he can finish. “I know.”

“Laura, I try my best.”

“I know.” You tell him, hopping off of the bar stool and taking your empty bowl to the dishwasher. “You always say that.”

“Ever since – “

“I get it, Dad.”

He opens his paper up again despite the fact that you’d seen him read it cover-to-cover just minutes ago and you know it’s your cue to make an exit.

You should do homework, but frankly, you can't care less about it than you do in this moment.

//

The captain’s armband feels good on your arm when you slip it on before the game, but unfortunately, it doesn’t translate out on the field.

The crowd’s energy spurs the team on in the first few minutes. It’s absolutely electric tonight. Even Carmilla looks like she’s mildly interested in the match’s outcome, but your opportunities to build the crowd’s excitement come few and far in between.

It’s your fault, that much you know. The ball was too easily taken from you and your passes and shots were nowhere near target.

It’s frustration all around after the game though and you’re not the only one still sitting in your stall when the first shower head turns on. You are, however, the only one who heads out onto the track. It’s like a drug, running. Your body may be protesting now, but you know how much better you’ll feel afterwards and you crave the runner’s high like something fierce.

You don’t notice that it’s raining until your cleats are tearing through soft ground and your heartbeat is pounding in your head after a few steps. Its steady beating helps you set a pace and you’re just settling into it when another set of footsteps interrupt your rhythm.

“What the frilly hell is this?” It's Carmilla.

 _Of course_.

“I know what I’m doing.” You shake your head at her because she’s just like Perry and LaFontaine and everyone on the team who doesn’t understand that you _need_ to do this to keep yourself going.

“You just pushed yourself for ninety odd minutes, sweetheart. I don’t think this is really what you should be doing right now.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Is that your favorite line?” She’s smirking and you allow yourself one more glare at her before you begin to run again.

When you register that she’s still running beside you, it blows your mind.

“If you’re gonna drown yourself,” Carmilla starts when she sees you looking at her. “Don’t do it in this rain. Drown yourself in the bottle of vodka stashed in my trunk instead.”

“I don’t drink.” You answer automatically. “It’s unhealthy.”

“This is counterproductive then, isn’t it?”

“To what?”

“To your health.” Her breathing has become laboured now. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re going to continue this martyr act - “

“Well at least I’m not the one who nearly got herself crippled.” You bite back at her and her footsteps cease almost immediately.

Soon enough, it’s only you and your pounding heart again.

That’s the way you like it.

//

Carmilla doesn't show up to run on Monday morning and it throws your routine off so badly that you end up hurling her water bottle against the pavement as soon as you get home.

The pattern holds for a few more days and you don't see her again until you take the field for a rare Wednesday afternoon game. She's in the stands beside the big puppy she calls a friend again and when she catches your gaze, she holds it for a few moments before purposefully turning her head away.

You lose again and your legs still kind of feel sore from Sunday night, but there's no other option in your head - no way you can possibly get past the voices telling you that you're a failure - without ignoring the pain. _This_ is the solution to your problems.

You're almost a full lap in before a hand lands on your shoulder. You know who it is without even looking and you shrug the hand off without breaking stride.

"Jesus, Hollis, I know you're fucked up inside, but can we please take a break from this teenage angst fest?"

You simply glare at her.

"Vodka." She says, falling into step beside you while wearing her clunky combat boots. "In my trunk. Seriously."

"I don't drink." You drop your voice a notch. " _Seriously_."

"Okay, so maybe a tea or something. You need to chill."

Carmilla is quiet for a few more moments before she says, "You'll be useless with dead legs."

Your legs _do_ feel kind of sore and there _is_ a match that you can't afford to lose coming up at the end of the week, so you stop and Carmilla does the same. She leans forward, her hands on her knees and takes a few deep breaths.

"I'm glad we agree on something." She says before starting to walk off the track. "Let's get you a cup of tea."

 

* * *

 

Laura Hollis is the most complex math equation you have ever encountered in your life.

You've known for a while that something's off with her, that something's not right. _Something_ has seriously fucked that girl up. But you have never previously observed her from as close as you have been able to recently, with all the running in the mornings and the going to her games with Kirsch. There's just something about her that doesn't make sense and your brain - despite all the trauma it's gone through or maybe because of it - can't shake the curiosity.

You're waiting for Kirsch to finish making out with SJ against the chain link fence in the parking lot after another night spent watching a match when a familiar figure stepping onto the track catches your eye.

You don’t know why you feel like you need to start looking out for Laura Hollis, maybe it’s the water bottle she always fills up for you or maybe it isn’t, but you find yourself walking over to the track before you can convince yourself not to.

She’s soaked by the time you catch up to her and so are you. You try your best to dissuade her from the self-destruction-by-exercise path she seems keen on going down, but she’s a jerk and by the end of your conversation, you’re seething.

 _Well at least I’m not the one who nearly got herself crippled_.

The words play over and over again in your head and when you’re in the shower that night, you look down at the scar that runs from the middle of your knee down to the base and you have to close your eyes because it’s the first time you’ve really looked at it.

It’s not even a straight line segment. Instead it’s crooked and bumpy in some places and it makes you want to punch something because looking at that scar is like looking at the line graph of your life.

//

You don’t think you can handle Laura the next day or the day after that. You do, however, accept Kirsch’s invitation to the next match because he promises you more restricted ice time.

(“Dude, just come to SJ’s game with me and we can go skating again.” He had promised. “I’m, like, bad at watching football,  but you’re worse and you make me look better.”)

You catch Laura staring at you before kickoff and you direct a cold stare her way before refusing to look at her the rest of the match, which - you realize soon after you make the decision - is nearly impossible to do when she is so involved in the play.

SJ is more noticeable in this game compared to the last few and Kirsch cheers and hollers every time his girlfriend touches the ball. They lose, though, and you don’t even bother pretending to wait for Kirsch because _hello_ , you came in separate cars. Instead, you walk towards the track and you wait.

Sure enough, she emerges and begins to run after a few minutes. It takes you a couple of  metres to catch up to her and when you do, she’s antagonistic to your touch.

"Jesus, Hollis, I know you're fucked up inside, but can we please take a break from this teenage angst fest?"

The look on her face makes you feel like you shouldn’t have said that, but you would have said it to Kirsch and you would have said it to Danny and really, Laura is no more special than them.

She keeps running and you’re nowhere near dressed for this activity, but you’re not about to let her push herself to her breaking point without getting answers first because Laura and the things that keep her going have taken up residence in your fucked up brain.

“Vodka.” You attempt to hold out an olive branch. “In my trunk. Seriously.”

“I don’t drink.” Well so much for that peace offering. “Seriously.”

"Okay, so maybe a tea or something. You need to chill."

At first you think she might have just not heard you, but after a few more moments, it’s clear she’s just ignoring you so you call her the one thing no athlete wants to hear.

 _Useless_.

You _know_ , you’ve thought it about yourself now for months.

"You'll be useless with dead legs."

She looks at you then, eyes wide and afraid and you add _afraid of uselessness_ to your ever-growing list of things you now know about your coach’s daughter.

Your lungs are just about ready to collapse when she slows to a stop. You notice her face is still streaked with mud from the match and her legs are speckled with dirt.

“I’m glad we agree on something.” You practically wheeze. “Let’s get you a cup of tea.”

//

You wait in your car for Laura to retrieve her things from the locker room. When you see her approaching via your side mirror, you climb out of the car almost instantly.

“What the hell is that?”

She looks down at the bike she’s pushing beside her.

“This is how I got to the game.” She says. “I wasn’t gonna leave it in the locker room.”

You roll your eyes because _of course_ getting her in your car can't possibly be complication free. She at least has the decency to look sheepish about the fact that she's not really giving you a choice about the bike.

You open the door to the back seat of your car and you hold your hand out for the bike. After a few minutes of trying, you finally manage to fit it inside.

"Helmet?" Laura simply shakes her head.

"I don't wear one."

 _Jesus Christ_.

The two of you end up at Starbucks and you really don't have a complaint about the drive. She turns on a radio channel that seems intent on playing only top forty hits, but stays silent throughout. It's strange for you, being the one to start conversation and so you don't. It's different, when you're running alongside her. Conversation then is punctuated by the sound of both of you fighting for breath. Here - under the glare of the streetlights filtering through your car's windshield - here it feels unnatural.

Starbucks isn't a place you normally find yourself going to and so you just order a black coffee  - because that's the same everywhere, right? - and after you're done ordering, you gesture for Laura to come forward and order too.

She looks like a child, still dirty from having played a match. Her ponytail is coming apart, strands of blonde hair sticking to her face and neck. It doesn't help that she's as short as she is.

"Come on, cutie." The term of endearment slips out of your mouth without your permission. "Order."

She looks at you with wide eyes.

"Oh, come on. Have you never had a girl pay for your drink before?"

"Not when I look like this." She murmurs before she steps forward and says to the barista, "I'll have a chai tea latte, please."

She says her thanks to the barista and then goes to stand by where the drinks are being served up. You have to physically shake your head before turning to pay because you don't understand how she can go from _sports robot jerk_ to _wide-eyed child_ so quickly.

You let her lead you to a table in a quiet portion of the sitting area. She puts her drink on the surface and then leans down and you watch her unclasp the shin guards she still has on as you take a seat opposite her.

"Thank you for this." She says when she's done, taking a sip of what looks like pure sugar.

"Yes, well, I was thinking more of a decaffeinated and sugar-free drink, but here we are."

She giggles and you smile a little at how bright her face gets, but then she seems to remember herself and you don't know where to even begin with this whole figure-out-Laura-Hollis-so-that-you-can-get-her-out-of-your-system thing you seem to have going on.

So you drink your coffee and you watch her from over the top of your cup because you don't really want to be called out for the staring.

She's pretty, that much you can admit. Now that you're looking at her just for the sake of looking, you can see there's a beauty in the rigid line of her jaw and the slight downward turn of the corners of her mouth. Her eyebrows arch in the middle of you studying her and you shift your eyes to the direction she's looking.

"Do my eyes deceive me or is the health nut extraordinaire actually ogling a cookie?"

Her eyes snap back to yours almost immediately and you can see her inner child practically bouncing in her seat.

"Don't look so worried, I won't tell your ginger friends." You say, making the decision to get up. "Chocolate chip or macadamia?"

"Chocolate chip." She says. "I'll pay you back."

"It's a dollar, sweetheart." You wave off the offer, starting towards the counter. "Whatever."

The barista takes her sweet time taking your order and you get kind of impatient because you feel like you're close to satisfying your curiosity about Laura, but there's also a small part of you that's impatient because you want to see her light up again and you know giving her this would accomplish that.

_God, what the hell is the matter with you right now?_

She's hunched over her phone when you come back with the cookie and you can't help but admire the smile that she gives you when you place the baked good, still wrapped in the small paper bag it came with, on the table in front of her.

"Thanks, Carm." She says and you raise an eyebrow at the nickname, but she's too busy unwrapping the cookie and you're still a little dazed by the discovery of this version of Laura Hollis - the smiling, cookie-loving, and somewhat shy girl who seems like she's made of sugar and spice and everything nice.

"You're welcome, cupcake."

She divides the cookie in half and lays one piece down on the paper bag she's flattened against the table before starting to eat the other.

"It's all yours." You tell her, feeling as if the coffee is burning through your esophagus.

"That's not fair." She shakes her head. "You should have some, too."

"I don't want any."

"Come on, try it for me."

"Why would I do anything for you?" You bite out before you can think about it and you want to take it back but she doesn't look fazed by the cutting remark.

"I'll trade you. You take a bite and I'll give you something in exchange. It's a really good cookie." She takes a bite as if to prove her point. "I can't have all of it, I won't make it up the hill tomorrow."

That's a lie and you both know it.

"It's _really_ good." She pops the rest of the cookie in her mouth and smiles again. "You must want _something_ from me."

"Yeah." You lean forward on your elbows, deciding that honesty is the best policy. "I want to know why you're so fucked up."

Instead of getting mad, or reacting in any way that you'd consider predictable, she laughs.

"I'll tell you something about me after each bite." Laura's eyes are brighter than you've ever seen them. Before you can get any ideas about trying to cheat her, she reaches out and breaks the cookie into six parts that are more or less equal. "Get started."

You put a piece into your mouth and she didn't lie, it is good. You hold your hand out palm up.

"Pay up, Hollis."

She looks slightly shocked by the fact that you're actually playing along. You watch her look down at the other pieces and then back up to you.

"My favorite football team is Bayern Munich." She says and a small smile plays on her lips.

"Is that why you're fucked up?"

She ignores you and so you eat another piece.

"But Wayne Rooney is my favorite player." You have no idea who he is or why he's relevant, but you take another piece of cookie. "I love the German National Football Team."

"I should have specified _interesting_ things." You mumble, but you grab and eat another piece anyways.

"I have every season of Veronica Mars on DVD." She's a little more hesitant to give this fact out. "I used to be a massive TV nerd, but I'm not anymore."

"Why?"

She looks pointedly at the two pieces still left between the two of you and you roll your eyes, but follow the rules of her little game anyway.

"Why?" You ask again after you've swallowed.

"My favorite color is red.

"That's not the fact I want."

She shrugs as if to say _I don't care_ and you raise your eyebrow at her and then you look down at the last piece of cookie.

"I'll make it a good one." She promises, smiling widely this time. You can see her tongue peeking out from between her teeth.

You take the last piece in between your thumb and your forefinger and you meet her eyes.

"It's a really good fact about myself, Carmilla." She insists.

You put the cookie in your mouth.

"I get a lot of nudes on Snapchat." She says and you almost choke.

//

You drop her off in front of her house after you finish both of your drinks. She's got her shin guards looped together by the straps and thrown over her shoulder and you can't help but admire the way the muscles in her arm ripple when she gets out to pull her bicycle out from the backseat.

"Thank you." She says and you start to ask _for what_ when she continues. "For the drink and for the -"

"Common sense?" You supply.

"Sure." Laura's smile is small, but you're still amazed by the discovery that she _can_ smile. She pauses before closing the door. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Lauronica Mars." You sing song.

"You're an asshole, Carmilla."

"Good, because I think you're the worst one of all."

If only that was still true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday! Thanks for reading!


	5. December - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: there’s still pain but there’s hope for healing. I think. Maybe. But probably not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Wednesday update!
> 
> The next chapter will be up on Sunday, April 19th because of an unforeseen trip I (Celina) have to take, so enjoy this!
> 
> If you have any questions, concerns, or if you want to talk bs au, you can find us both on tumblr: hedalexsa and sedinbrothers! See you guys next week and thanks for reading!

You start December off by scraping by with a C- in your Chemistry class.

You can’t help but slam your laptop shut when your grade flashes up on the screen. School has always been something you have to work at, but Chemistry frustrates you because you did okay in the class itself, but the final was _difficult_ and by the time you walked out of the exam room, all you wanted to do was forget you even _took_ Chemistry. You have a match coming up on the weekend, though, so that makes you feel a little bit better.

And a small part of you wonders if Carmilla will continue her perfect home match attendance. You’re getting used to seeing her there, thirteen rows up in the middle portion of the stands, bundled up in her customary dark clothing. The last few games, she’s shown up with a dark red scarf draped around her neck.

It’s unsettling how Carmilla has managed to insert herself into your routines so quickly and what’s even more disturbing is that you simply don’t _mind_ at this point.

(You hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass.)

//

You end up losing the match, but the worst part is that you _deserved_ to lose.

The team plays very poorly and you know that you aren’t exempt from that judgment. You were sluggish out there at best and nothing you did made a difference to the outcome of the contest. It’s quiet afterwards in the locker room and it makes you so uncomfortable that you start taking off your shin guards before you can think about it.

It’s so _quiet_ that you can hear every creak of your bike’s tires as you push it on your way out the door and _god_ , you can hear yourself think for once, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. You don’t make eye contact with anyone on your way out, you _can’t_. Your brain is going a hundred miles an hour and all you want to do right now is set your bike and your bag down next to the track while you enjoy a few moments of peace in your own mind.

You’ve just closed the door behind you, fully intending to carry out your plan, when someone clears their throat and you look up so fast you think you might have given yourself whiplash.

It’s Carmilla, _of course_ it is.

“What are you doing here?” You blurt out at her.

She’s leaning against the chain link fence with her arms crossed. She’d look menacing if it wasn’t for the scarf she still has wrapped more around her shoulders than her neck.

“Looking at the stars.” She says dryly. “I enjoy it.”

She doesn’t make a move to block your path to the track or even discourage you from it. Instead, she just steps away from the fence, raises an eyebrow at you, and then starts walking towards her car, toying with her keys in her left hand the whole way.

You’re not gonna follow, _you’re not_ , except your feet are already following her footsteps. She doesn’t even bother to hold her hand out for your bike anymore, she just _takes_ it and when you climb into the passenger seat - after watching her struggle to fit the bike in the backseat – she’s already turned on the radio channel you listen to.

It’s not running. It’s nowhere near close, but _this_ – just sitting in silence as Carmilla drives you home - slows your thoughts down and you feel less ready to snap at anyone who comes near you and more ready for a shower and sleep.

“Thank you.” You tell her when she stops the car in front of your driveway.

“I always knew you didn’t have enough common sense.” She drawls, rolling her eyes at you. “You’re lucky I have plenty to go around, creampuff.”

//

When semester break comes along, the team gets a bit of a break from soccer too. Other than that, nothing much changes for you. You still run every weekday morning with Carmilla who matches you stride for stride on flat ground now.

In the afternoons, you go to the gym to work on your core and upper body strength. You do your Christmas shopping over a span of two days – with Perry one day and LaFontaine the other – and it’s when you’re in a freaking _Kitchen Wares_ store with LaF that you see something that you think maybe Carmilla would like.

She said she likes to stargaze, you remember. And even if she _was_ being a sarcastic jerk in that moment, the truth in her statement had shone through.

So you buy it and you wrap it when you get home and you wonder how exactly to give it to her.

//

After you finish your run on Christmas Eve, you pick Carmilla’s present up at home and head over to her apartment.

You thank your lucky stars for the fact that the names of tenants are taped neatly next to the corresponding apartment numbers and buzzers. You press down on the buzzer labeled “307 Karnstein” and you wait.

“Shouldn't you be stuffing your face with Helen's cookies?” Even through an intercom, Carmilla sounds grumpy.

“Uh, It’s me.” You say.

Carmilla doesn’t reply and you count to almost thirty seconds before there is an audible click and you are able to swing the door open.

It takes you several minutes to get to her floor and work out exactly which door is hers. When you knock, she answers almost immediately.

“Hey.” Her hair looks damp - from showering after her run this morning, you assume - and she’s wearing a simple black shirt with the sleeves cut off paired with leggings and you think _her arms look nice_.

“Hey.” She replies. She looks down at the cube shaped present in your hand. “That for me?”

You nod and hand it over and she squints at you in her I-can’t-figure-you-out way that you’ve started to recognize.

“Happy Christmas.” You tell her.

Carmilla mumbles something in return before stepping back and widening the door’s opening. You can’t, for the life of you, even begin deciphering whatever she’s just muttered under her breath at you so you say, “I’m sorry?”

“I said I have something for you, too.”

You hadn’t expected that.

She walks away from you, still cradling her present in her hands and you’re not sure if you’re welcome inside so you stay where you are. It’s not even a minute before she returns and thrusts a bike helmet into your arms.

It’s the same dark red as her scarf and the thought makes you smile.

“Thank you.” She mumbles a _you’re welcome_ and your smile only widens. You honestly can’t remember when it was that you last smiled like this. “You should open yours.”

She nods and peels off the wrapping paper carefully. When she gets to the box, you watch her read what it says and your smile widens, if that’s even possible, at the way her eyes light up.

“So the constellations appear when – “

“When the cup gets warm, yes.” She opens up the box too and takes out the realistic star-covered mug. “I saw it the other day and thought of you.”

She looks at you then and you’ve never seen her eyes so soft, except maybe for that night at Starbucks.

“Merry Christmas, Laura.” She says.

It occurs to you later that that’s the first time you’ve ever heard Carmilla say your name.

//

Your Dad is not very good at trying any other day of the year and Christmas is no exception. He cooks a steak dinner for the two of you and you exchange presents - you got him a few tie and shirt ensembles and he’d gotten you an LA Galaxy David Beckham jersey - before you both turn in for the night.

The hockey team plays on New Year’s Eve and he’s preoccupied at the prospect of facing another game without his star player, you can tell. He spaces out more than once over dinner and you have to repeat _goodnight_ and _Merry Christmas_ before he replies in kind.

You’ve never thought about it before, but maybe Carmilla isn’t to blame for his preference for her. Maybe you’ve been hating her all this time for your father’s own shortcomings.

//

There’s frat party on New Year’s because you live in a college town, _of course_ there is.

A lot of the girls from the team show up and you spend some time catching up with them over the loud music and plastic cups full of sketchy beer. At around ten, the hockey girls start filing in and news spreads quickly around the room that they had lost the big game. You excuse yourself from your teammates when you see Carmilla slinking towards the keg.

“Hey!” You greet her. She has this look of annoyance on her face.

“Hey.” Carmilla grabs a cup and drowns its contents in less than ten seconds. She grabs another and holds it out to you. “Want some?”

You shake your head no and she shrugs her shoulders at you.

“Why do you drink?” You ask.

“Liquid courage, babe.” She says, winking at you before slipping past you and onto the dance floor. You think maybe she’s insane, but you all have ways of coping with losses.

//

You’re about to leave at the end of the night with some girl when you spot Carmilla practically stumbling towards the door.

And it’s not even a choice - it’s stupid and irrational that you’re feeling this obligated to her when you’re sure she has friends here somewhere, but you drop the girl without a second thought in favor of grabbing Carmilla by the shoulders.

“Hey.” You shake her a little and she lifts her eyelids a little to reveal goofy eyes. “How drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk at all.” She’s almost slurring and you roll your eyes at her, but you don’t think she even notices because she tweaks your nose in the same moment. “You’re pretty.”

That makes you laugh, but also makes you realize just exactly how intoxicated she is. She’s swaying a little on her feet and so you keep a hold of her elbow as you pull her through the crowd.

“Where’re we goin’?” She yells into your ear and her hot breath on your skin makes a blush rise up into your cheeks. “Are you takin’ me home, Haura Lollis?”

“That is _not_ my name.”

She giggles and you heave a sigh of relief as soon as you two manage to squeeze out the door of the frat house. You can hear the countdown starting even from outside. You think maybe you should take her to her apartment, but there’s no telling she’ll survive the night by herself.

_9_

“You wear th’bike helmet, ‘kay?” She leans against you and you are torn between laughing at her extreme drunkenness and being repulsed by it.

_8_

“We’re not riding my bike, Carmilla.”

_7_

Carmilla looks at you like you’re insane for saying such a thing. Her breath comes out of her mouth in smoke due to the mix of the cold winter air and the heat of her mouth.

_6_

She stops in her tracks and you stop a step later. Her expression has dropped into sadness and you throw your arms up into the air at the sight because _seriously_.

_5_

“But how are we getting home, Laura?” She sounds like she’s about to cry.

_4_

“We’re _walking_ , you useless drunk. _Come on_.”

_3_

“But I don’t wanna walk.”

_2_

“Then we run.” That sparks her interest and she perks up almost immediately.

_1_

At the sound of party horns and fireworks being set off, Carmilla takes off like a cannon and you can’t help but laugh at how much of a turn your night has taken because of her as you chase her down the street.

“They were counting down so we can race, Laura!” She giggles.

The two of you run the distance to your house and Carmilla doesn’t even complain when you usher her inside. Instead, she leans against you some more. You manage to get her into your bed after forcing her to drink a glass of water and she cracks an eye open just before she falls asleep.

“Thanks for the common sense, cupcake.” She breathes out.

“You’re lucky I have plenty to go around.” You reply and for once you’re the one smirking.

 

* * *

  

Your first doctor’s appointment of December brings the best news you’ve had for the past seven months:

You’re cleared to skate again.

It doesn’t make that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things because you’ve been skating with Kirsch for the last two months anyway, but it feels good to know that you actually _are_ healing. It still stings that you’re not cleared to play yet, but in the last few months, you’ve learned it’s important to pick your battles. You just won another one, so you feel like it’s okay to celebrate a little.

You text Kirsch and Danny, because you don’t feel like you should do this alone.

A small part of you wants to run by Laura Hollis’ house just so that you can tell her this, but you shake off that idea almost as soon as it enters your mind - you’re not friends. It’s weird to define _what_ you are, really, but friends is most certainly not it.

She’s just a puzzle you wanna piece together. That one equation you just _need_ to solve.

And if that means running with her, and talking to her and maybe even hanging out with her, then that’s okay. But it doesn’t mean you’re friends. You don’t think you could ever be friends with someone like Laura Hollis, really, not matter how cute her smile is sometimes, or how it’s just so interesting to watch her ramble about something that makes her excited.

You just want to understand her. You wanna pick her apart so you can see what makes her tick. And if somewhere along the way you actually start enjoying hanging out with her - well, that’s just something you’ll have to deal with.

But that doesn’t really matter right now. You just got cleared to skate and you wanna do exactly that, so you don’t even wait for Kirsch and Danny before you make your way to the rink.

And when they do arrive, Kirsch brings SJ along and Danny is all pissy at the way she giggles and keeps blowing him kisses, but you can’t even bring yourself to care. Because this is happening again. You can start practicing and you can slowly make your way back to where you belong.

It feels like life is finally getting back on track.

//

You think maybe things are gonna go to shit when Laura’s team loses again.

And you should probably just let her be. If she wants to be self-destructive and end her career before it has even begun, then it’s her choice. It’s not of your business, not really.

But then she’s walking out of the locker room and you’re following her before you can even think _not_ to. You don’t understand a whole lot of soccer, but you can see that Laura played well. Maybe not the best that you’ve seen her play, sure, but it doesn’t mean that she still wasn’t _good_. But you’ve been around her long enough now to know that she is helpless when she wins and when she doesn’t - well, you don’t even want to think about it.

In the back of your mind, you _get_ it. It’s both a blessing and a curse to be the star player of a team - and there’s no denying that’s exactly what Laura is. The wins are hers, yes, but also are the losses. She’s the captain. She has to bear responsibility for everything that happens on the field, and you might not know much about _why_ she is the way she is, but you’ve seen enough in the last couple of months to realize that Laura feels responsible for everything in a way that it’s not healthy.

So when you clear your throat as she’s leaving, you try to justify that you just don’t want her snapping and completely losing it.

It won’t do anyone any good.

She asks you what you’re doing and when you say, “Looking at the stars.” You mean it. You actually were, before she showed up. “I enjoy it.” And that’s a bit of an understatement, but - well, you’re not _friends_. And stargazing is actually something you deeply enjoy doing. You’re not sure if you’re ready to completely share that with Laura yet.

 _Or ever_ , your mind completes.

(But then you think of the facts about herself that Laura has shared with you - silly as they were - and maybe that’s not so true as you once thought it was.)

You let yourself watch her for a moment - as if she’ll make sense to you all of a sudden - but then you turn on your heels and you walk towards your car.

It’s a choice, she can either follow you or not. You’re learning that if you push Laura too hard she just snaps and that’s counterproductive for you at the moment.

But still, you can’t say you’re really surprised when you hear her footsteps behind you. So you only turn around and you take her bike from her hand, cursing the thing in your mind as you try to shove it in the back seat of your beetle.

(You’ve been getting better at it, but it’s still a hassle. You make a note to ask her why she can’t just get a ride from one of those annoying jerks she always seems to have surrounding her.)

When slip inside, however, you forget about that. You turn the radio to that cheesy station that she likes and the silence that you two share isn’t uncomfortable, so you don’t feel the need to break.

There will be time to pester her with questions when you’re running laps together.

But right now, you know that Laura appreciates you keeping your mouth shut.

(When she thanks you for everything, you know you’ve made the right decision.)

(You just can’t understand why you even care.)

//

When you think of December in the graph of your life, you come to the decision that the line is becoming considerably positive again and you have to confess that it scares you a bit.

It scares you because there's only so high that line can go before it starts to descend again and you're not ready for it to plummet down as it did back in May.

Just as it reached its peak.

(You don't mind if you never go as high as you can, if it means you'll never reach your lowest point either.)

(If the line graph of your life is on a constant zero, then that's all too good for you.)

Winter break to you basically means two things: skating and running. And that means the line going up, but not enough to scare you. Winter break is safe, and you hate yourself a little bit because you don't _want_ safe, but you don't think there's anything left for you, not really.

(It's a small win in the face of a great loss and you try not to dwell on the fact that it doesn't feel like a win at all.)

"Okay, so," Kirsch says as the two of you walk together at the Mall. "I have you, SJ, my mother and a couple of Zeta bros. We get the others and then we split so I can get your present and you can get mine?"

You narrow your eyes at him, "What makes you think I'm getting you anything at all?"

He glances at you and he doesn't even blink when he starts listing off things, "You got me a gift last year when you barely even knew me. And then you got me a birthday gift. And you even gave me a cupcake for Valentine's Day. There's no way you're not buying me a gift this year and when I'm, like, your best bro ever."

"Please never refer to yourself as that ever again," you roll your eyes. You shove your hands in the pocket of your pants. "That gift was because you didn't let me die in a pool of my own puke." You point out. "And that cupcake was stale, I'm surprised you didn't die."

"Stomach of steel," he pats his belly and you don't waste any time punching him there. It's not hard enough to do any damage, so Kirsch just scoffs at you. "And what about my birthday?"

You shrug, "I had some money to spare."

"You're a trust fund baby, Carmilla." He tells you pointedly and you give him that smirk that you knows drives him crazy with frustration.

"My point exactly, Kirsch-boy."

//

You've been at the mall for two hours and you already going insane. Kirsch shops like a fucking girl, which should come as no surprise to you, when you think about it.

He left thirty minutes ago to look for your present and you've been aimlessly walking around the mall, trying to kill time. You only have him and Danny to shop for and you've already finished that.

(There's your step-mother too, but you usually order her something online and have it delivered at her house. Anything to keep as much distance as you can from her.)

You text Kirsch asking where he is just as you walk by the sports goods store. There's a fleeting thought in your mind that you should get yourself a water bottle - but then you shake your head at it.

There's something about the idea of Laura throwing you a bottle of water everyday, even if it's just her annoying tendency to show off her healthy habits.

You're about to walk out of the store when your eyes fall on the red helmet sitting on one of the shelves. It's that dark red you're actually fond of, so you buy it.

When the sales clerk asks you if you want to have it wrapped, you shake your head.

(You don't care. Not really. It's just all that damn Christmas spirit rubbing off on you.)

//

Your idea is to give her the gift during one of your morning runs, but that proves to be rather hard considering you don't want to be the idiot running around with a helmet in your hand.

So you go on your morning run with her and you don't say anything about it as she pushes and pushes and pushes and you do your best to follow her.

(You're getting better at it. The line keeps slowly inching up.)

You get home and you shower. Her gift is sitting on your bed where you left it this morning, glaring at you and making you feel like a coward for putting it off giving it to her.

"Whatever." You roll your eyes. "It's no big deal."

The buzzer sounds in your apartment and you groan as you look at the clock. It's way too early for Kirsch to be bothering you, especially considering it's the morning of Christmas freaking Eve.

"Shouldn't you be stuffing your face with Helen's cookies?"

But then Laura's voice comes from the intercom and you grow quiet for almost a minute because you can't understand what she's doing here, or how she even managed to find out where you live.

You pace your living room as you wait for Laura to get to your door and you even check yourself in the mirror - and then you want to punch yourself because, _what does it even matter_? It's freaking Laura Hollis, for fucks sake.

When your doorbell rings, you waste no time opening it up.

She's still wearing her clothes from running and you try not to focus on the thin layer of sweat that clings to her skin.

"Hey." She says, and your eyes fall to the small package she's holding in her hands.

"Hey." You're still trying to process the entire thing, so you resort to the obvious. Or, at least, what you hope it is. "That for me?"

She nods and hands it to you and you might have thought that was obvious, but it really isn't. You narrow your eyes at her and you try to think of why she would even bother to get you anything.

But then you remember you also did get her something, so you mumble words in a way that would make your stepmother immensely angry and you try not to roll your eyes when Laura makes you repeat yourself.

You hold the small box close to you and you try not to think too much of what it all means. She's been giving you water and pushing you to get better and now she's giving you gifts? All the while still managing to be a jerk and you really _don't_ understand this girl.

When you thrust the helmet in her arms you focus on the expressions on her face but you know you're not any closer to actually figuring her out.

It seems that you've been reduced to mumbled conversations - and really, _what the hell_? - but you still do as Laura tells and you open your present.

(And if your breath catches on your throat at the sight of the stupid mug, well, you don't think too much of it.)

Her name slips from your lips before you can catch yourself and you try to tell yourself that you're not friends with Laura Hollis.

(You fail. Just like you've done with everything else in your life lately.)

//

Christmas goes by as a blur of Kirsch's mother shoving food down your throat and your best friend annoying you like he always does.

He gets you a Habs jersey and you want him to take it back because those things are _expensive_ , but he doesn't. And you only gag a little when his whole face breaks into a grin at the sight of the white and blue Maple Leafs jersey you get for him, his name and number embroidered on the back.

(And he still wonders why you call him a loser.)

It's mindless entertainment and you're glad to forget about everything that's been going on in your life lately.

//

It seems that your line going up was only a small glitch, because it dips back into the negatives when your team loses the New Year's Eve game and you can't do anything but watch from the sidelines.

You hate to be so helpless. What is it worth that you can skate but you can't help your team? And it's a bad loss too, 4-0. The entire team feels like shit once it's over and you really just want to drown your sorrows in alcohol.

You've been doing that a lot less lately than you've had when you first got hurt, but there's no one who can tell you that you're not justified to do so with a loss like that.

When you get to the party and you see Kirsch, he only sighs and tells you to call him before you manage to get yourself in trouble.

(That's easy. You can do that. And then you can throw up your guts and he'll hold your hair and pat your back because he's a good friend like that.)

You’re making your way to the beer keg when Laura Hollis steps into your path. You feel that weird tingling in your hands that you’ve been feeling lately whenever she’s around, but you reason that it’s just your body anticipating the alcohol you’re about to drink. It’s stupid to think you react to her in any way at all.

She greets you in a way that’s just too cheerful for how you’re feeling, and you waste no time thrusting your cup in front of her - misery loves company, after all.

But she says no and, well, it’s not really a surprise. You’ve been realizing that the things Laura says and the way she acts are often different - and it’s a no-brainer that you like her actions better than her words - but drinking is the one thing where she practices what she preaches.

And whatever, really.  You’re not even lying to her when you tell her it’s all liquid courage.

You’ve long accepted that you’re a coward.

//

You tell Laura that you’re not drunk at all, but that’s a lie.

And when you tell her she’s pretty you try to convince yourself that there’s not a single truth to that statement, but she’s _so fucking pretty._

You’d be blind not to notice it, really.

Later you’ll try to remember the things you said to her and if you did anything inappropriate, but you can only remember _running_. And not only that, but freedom. Something that you never thought you’d associate to Laura Hollis, but that now you can’t shake it off, even with the pounding in your head and the stale taste in your mouth.

(You tell yourself you’re never drinking again.)

When you open your eyes you quickly realize that you’re most definitely _not_ in your bedroom. Or Kirsch’s bedroom. Or even Danny’s, for that matter. There’s a glass of water next to you and a bottle of advil and you thank God for small favors as you pop them inside your mouth and you finally widen your eyes enough to take a look around.

The trophies and medals spread around the room are a dead giveaway, but it’s the red jersey with the number 19 on the back that confirm that you’re indeed in Laura’s bedroom - in her freaking _bed_ , nonetheless.

You jump from it as if you’d just been burned and you have to take a moment to collect yourself as the world starts spinning around you.

There are flashes in your mind; careless smiles, the wind on your face and Laura’s footsteps echoing next to yours. They send a warmth through your body but you don’t dwell on those. You _can’t_.

(You’re not friends. You’re not friends. You’re not friends.)

You find her downstairs, curled up on the couch with a - surprise, surprise - soccer game playing on the flat screen in front of her. She’s so entranced that you consider the possibility of slipping out without saying anything. But she took care of you and you’re nothing if not polite to your hosts.

Even if your host is one Laura Hollis.

You clear your throat and you bite back a smile at the way she jumps off and clutches at her heart as she looks at you, her eyes wide. “Jesus, Carm!”

There’s that tingling again, but you refuse to pay attention to it. “Morning, sundance.” You tell her instead.

She shifts on her seat and looks around everywhere before her gaze settles on you again. “Uh, morning.” She bites her lip. “Do you wanna watch the game with me?”

And you could. _God_ , you totally could. It probably wouldn’t even be an effort to spend two hours sitting on a couch next to her, but that’s not how you two are supposed to work. You’re not supposed to enjoy her presence. You just want to figure her out and that’s it. Just so that you can satisfy the curiosity that burns inside you whenever she does something that sends the graph line of her behavior spiking towards the opposite direction from where it has constantly been.

“Thanks,” you wrinkle your nose. “But I gotta go. Besides,” you shrug, trying to pull off a careless attitude when, in truth, it couldn’t be further from what you’re feeling. “Soccer is not my thing, remember?”

She seems disappointed for the whole of a second, before she shakes her head and shrugs at you.

“You never could appreciate the good things in life anyway.”

And it would have insulted you any other time, but now you just throw her a wink and you try not to think of all the meanings that particular action can have.

“See you later, cupcake.”

She nods at you and you leave her house as fast as you can.

You try to tell yourself that you’re not becoming friends with Laura Hollis.

(It’s a lot easier to believe that when you’re not drowning in her presence.)


	6. January - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: the one where everything just gets fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late! It's extra long though, so...
> 
> Fun idea: listen to The Killers' **Be Still** and **All These Things That I've Done** while reading Laura's POV.

Your first game after winter break falls on a Friday night and you’re surprised to find Carmilla sitting at her usual place on the stands, red scarf around her neck and - you have to take a glance to make sure that you’re not imagining things - no overgrown toddler in sight.

_Soccer is not my thing, remember?_

You think of how she’s been to every game since the season started and you don’t _get it_. From what you’ve gathered, Carmilla is not the kind of person to do things she doesn’t want to do. And yes, maybe her friendship with Kirsch went deeper than you were able to understand, but then what is she doing here when he’s clearly _not_ around?

When the game is over, you don’t waste time making your way to the chain link fence by the parking lot, where you know she’ll be waiting for you.

“I thought soccer wasn’t your thing?” is the way you greet her as you let her take your bike from you.

Carmilla wrinkles her nose and you try not to notice how _cute_ it makes her. “It’s not.” She shrugs.

Forget cute, she’s _infuriating_.

“Then what are you doing here?”

She shoves your bike into the backseat of her car - and you notice she almost does so without it getting stuck anymore - and then reaches out for your helmet, glancing at it for a moment and then carefully placing it next to your bike.

“Someone has to keep you from going robot crazy," her gaze meets yours, and you hold it for a moment. Maybe you’re trying to read into her thoughts, but it’s a futile attempt. "Might as well be me."  

You stick your tongue out at her and she rolls her eyes as she pushes you towards the car.

(There's playfulness in your actions now. You can't help but wonder when that happened.)

"You're an asshole." You tell her when you're already comfortable in the front seat, your finger reaching for the radio she long since left to your command.

"So are you, cupcake," she smirks. "Besides, I still don't know why you're so fucked up. Maybe watching your games will help me figure you out."

You can't help it, you scoff at her, "Good luck with that."

She glances at you, but doesn't say anything. When you two walk into Starbucks and Carmilla orders your drink and a cookie without hesitating for a beat, you tell yourself that you're not warming up to her.

(You tell yourself the thought of Carmilla paying attention to you doesn't give you the same feeling that running does.)

//

Practice, as usual, is a mess.

Surprisingly enough, you don't feel as irked by it as you usually do. You still scream at SJ a couple of times for her distraction and you still think you should've done _better_ , but by the time it's over, you don't really feel the urge to run five kilometers to make up for it.

It's only when Coach calls you after practice that you feel your heart pumping in your chest and a cold dread falls over you.

He never does that; usually he calls out a congratulations across the field or pats your back on your way to the locker room, but he never asks you for a moment alone.

You know as soon as the words are out of his mouth that _something_ is wrong.

"Hollis," he greets you once you enter his office. He has a stack of papers in front of him and you can see the outlines of a number of different plays. What catches your attention, however, is the official-looking document on top of the pile - the Silas University crest glaring at you. "We need to talk about your grades."

You feel your heart plummeting to the ground. Your hands grow cold and a thin sheet of sweat forms on your forehead; you know you haven't been the best student lately. Your classes are boring and you have a better use for the time you should spend studying, but you didn't think things had been that bad. Maybe a little, yeah, but certainly not enough to warrant a personal chew out from your coach.

You decide to play it dumb. "My grades, Coach?"

He nods, and pushes the paper towards you. "If your GPA drops any lower you won't be allowed to play for the team anymore. And God knows I don't want that to happen."

Your hands reach for the paper and your eyes fall at your marks for your latest exams. You don't really need to look at them to know that you haven't been doing well; it doesn't take a genius to understand that a couple of D's and one F is seriously gonna hurt your overall mark.

"It's just a bad time right now," you tell him, and you hope that your voice doesn't waver as the lie slips past your lips.

It's been a bad time for a long time now.

He nods, "I understand." Then, he pushes his glass up and he looks at you. "But you gotta find a way to make this work, kiddo. Otherwise you'll get cut and there won't be anything I'll be able to do to help you. It's either sink or swim, Hollis."

The analogy is awful and you have to bite your lip to keep the biting remark that’s begging to slip out. It wouldn't be of any help to you to disrespect your coach right now.

"Yeah - no, don't worry." You assure him. "It will all be fixed soon."

He narrows his eyes at you and you have a feeling he doesn't quite believe you, but the truth is - you don't really care. You feel the anger bubbling inside of you, along with the bitter taste of failure and you just want to run.

You want all this to stop.

"Am I free to go?" You ask your coach, and he sighs, but nods anyway.

It's amazing how fast you make to the field.

And by the time your feet are hurting and you feel like you might collapse, you think that maybe things have a chance of being alright again.

//

You run.

The wind is rushing past your ears and the sound your feet makes as it thumps against the ground matches the beat coming from your headphones and you _run._ You run as fast as you’ve ever ran in your life and you know hours have gone by but you have absolutely no intention of stopping.

Blisters be damned. Sore muscles be damned. You just want to forget your Coach’s words, you want to forget that - once again - you’re a failure.

And that’s really all that you’ll ever amount to it, isn’t it? You’d been stupid to think that a scholarship and a few good matches would be enough to shake off the one thing you’ve known to be true for most of your life.

So you let your legs do all the work and you try to shut all the voices in your brain that keep shouting that you’ll never be good enough. And when you pick up speed and the voices don’t fade, you only run harder. You lean your body forward and you clench your teeth against each other, ignoring the way your thighs are spasming and your cleats are digging through the muddied field, your steps not nearly as steady as they should be.

But you don’t let that stop you. You don’t let any of that stop you, because you need this. You need to be out of it, even if just for a few hours. Everything is just - everything is _too much_. You think of your father and you think of your mother and you think of soccer and - well. You just want it all gone.

And for a little while, it works. The speed and the effort you put into keeping one feet after the other actually pay off when everything suddenly vanishes from your mind. There are no expectations, no parents, no coaches, no university - nothing. It’s as if you’re floating and you never want to let go of that feeling. Ever.

But just as everything in your life, it comes crashing down a couple seconds later.

//

Carmilla is the one to find you, of course.

You shouldn’t be surprised, not really, but you kind of are. And you’d probably be focusing on that - focusing on _why_ she’s out on the field when it’s not game day, but she _is_ and you can’t help but be a little bit glad for it.

(You’ll never say it out loud, but you’ve never been happier to see her.)

“What the _fuck_ , Laura?”

She’s mad. Considering your situation, you think maybe she has a right to be mad. She also has a right to be gloating right now, because - well, she _did_ tell you to be careful.

But you don’t even register these things, because all you can feel is pain. It’s burning from your ankle and you try to think if maybe that’s how Carmilla felt _that day_ , but you can’t really think any further than the pain that’s making your eyes water and the fact that you can’t really get up.

(Besides, it’s probably stupid to try and compare both things. It scares you to think back now, of how Carmilla looked so _still_ on that ice, blood running from her face and knee bent in a weird way. You don’t want to ever understand what it means to go through something like that.)

“Are you going to _help me_ or are you just going to stand there?” You snap, because you might be feeling a lot of things right now, but none of them change the fact that Carmilla is still as irritating as they come.

She glares at you, "You're a fucking idiot."

And then she's kneeling next to you and reaching out for your bruised ankle, but your pride is already catching up to you and you know shit's gonna hit the fan before you can actually get some help.

"You don't have to be such an asshole," you tell her, at the same time you slap her hand away. "Get the _fuck_ away from me, I don't need your help."

Something flashes in her eyes, but then her gaze is cold again and you fleetingly wonder if Carmilla is actually capable of feeling anything or if this apathy is just her default mode.

She moves her hand away and you bite hard on your lip as you try to get up. You think you're gonna make it, you think maybe it isn't bad as it looks - as it feels - but then your feet touches the ground and pain shoots up your leg and you're reaching for Carmilla before you can even think twice about it.

Her grip is steady, but her voice isn't any warmer than it had been a couple minutes ago, "Let's get you to the hospital, you fool."

She wraps one of your arms around her neck and she circles one of her own around your waist. You can feel her warmth radiating from how close she's pressed against you, but the only thing your brain can register is the pain.

You want to be mad at Carmilla, you really do, but you can't. You did this to yourself. Everyone warned you not to push yourself too hard and that's exactly what you did.

In the back of your brain, you can't help but think that maybe this is exactly what you wanted. If you couldn't play anymore than there'd be no pressure, right? You'd be a failure, sure, but that's not any different than your current situation.

Maybe if you couldn't play anymore, you'd finally be free.

//

Everything sort of becomes a blur.

Carmilla drives you to the hospital and wheels you inside once you get there. She fills out your patient file and she asks surprisingly few questions about your personal information, though she leaves no blank spaces on the paper in front of her.

After she's done, a nurse comes to take you to get an X-ray and Carmilla silently follows the both of you once the nurse tells her she's allowed to come. She doesn't look mad anymore, but you can't really figure out why she's still around. It's not as if you're friends - she doesn't have to look after you.

(But then you think of morning runs, Starbucks and New Years and - maybe you're _kind_ of friends.)

She doesn't say anything as the nurse hands you a heavy dose of painkillers and tells you that they're keeping you until the results of your X-ray are ready.

Your body feels light as the medicine kicks in and you can't really feel the throbbing pain on your ankle anymore, so you glance at Carmilla and want to stop the stupid smile that comes to your lips, but you're too drugged to be in full control of your features right now.

"Thank you for coming with me," you tell her. "You could've just dropped me outside, my Dad would've picked me up."

At least _eventually_ , you think. He hasn't returned the five missed calls you left on his phone.

Carmilla seems to be thinking the same thing, because she rolls her eyes and moves closer to the foot of your bed, "What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

You make a mental note: Carmilla isn't one to sugarcoat things.

(That note slips from your mind five seconds later.)

"I wasn't," you tell her. And you want to keep the next words from ever leaving your lips, but they tumble down anyway. "That was the whole point."

She looks at you in that way you've come to associate with the way she looks as she's trying to solve a difficult equation and then she lets out a heavy sigh.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

It's nothing more than a whisper, but it rings as loud as a scream in the sterile hospital room. Carmilla has asked you that question for what it feels like a million times now. You don't think she'll ever stop, but you're not inclined to tell her either.

"Wouldn't you like to know," is what you go with it, shifting your gaze from hers. You want to be mad at her for bringing this up again, but the amount of medicine on your blood keeps you from being anything other than happy and relaxed.

You _hate_ it.

Carmilla inches closer and you think her eyes have softened as she looks at you - or maybe that’s just the painkillers making your brain hazy.

“Why won’t you tell me?” She asks. You think you roll your eyes at her,  but you can’t really be sure.

“Why do you want to know so bad, huh?” You snap. “Just so that you can gloat about how you’ve managed to solve the puzzle that it is Laura Hollis?”

She seems surprised by your sudden outburst. “That’s not-”

“Please,” you scoff.

You feel the anxiety bubbling under the surface, but it never comes spilling out and it’s as an unsettling feeling as you’ve ever felt. You want to be screaming at Carmilla for pushing this, or at the very least biting out scathing remarks about her accident or something - _anything_ \- that will make her back the fuck off. But you can’t do anything like that right now.

And apparently you can’t get a hold of your words either, because things just come tumbling out of your mouth. “Do you really want to know, Carmilla? Why I’m so fucked up? You want to know all about how my mother left and didn’t look back and now my father can’t stand to meet my eyes? Or maybe you want to know that the reason why I can’t watch TV shows anymore it’s because they’re the one thing my mother and I used to do together and now it only reminds of the fact that she - ”

Your voice breaks in the middle of the sentence and only when the room goes quiet is that you realize that tears are running down your face and Carmilla is looking at you with an expression that you’ve never seen on her face.

Maybe it’s pity. Maybe it’s something else entirely. You wish you hadn’t accepted those painkillers - they’re proving to be a lot more trouble than they’re worth.

“What - ” Carmilla starts, but you don’t let her finish. It seems that now that you’ve started talking, you just can’t stop anymore.

“Sophomore year of High School,” you whisper. Your head falls back and you roll your eyes up to the fan in the ceiling, watching as the blades spin and spin and spin and spin. “That’s when she left. We’d watched the series finale of Buffy The Vampire Slayer the night before and she’d kissed me goodnight, just as she always did. And in the morning, she was gone. No notes, no goodbye. Nothing. Just… gone. Vanished. _Poof_.”

You make the sound of _poofing_ again as you meet Carmilla’s gaze and you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips. Maybe you shouldn’t be laughing in such a moment, but people always talk about things being funny if they weren’t so tragic, right?

Carmilla looks at you and you try to hold her gaze, but her image starts to blur before you. “Laura, stop.” She says. “Just rest, okay? They’ll be over with the results soon.”

“No, no, no, no.” You shake your head. “You wanted to know, right? Well, M-om,” you clear your throat. Your shirt is growing wetter as your tears fall, but you don’t bother to wipe them out. A part of you thought they’d dried out years ago, but maybe you’ve been wrong this whole time. “Mom left. And Dad couldn’t - Well, I don’t know. He just won't look right at me. I thought maybe he needed some time, but I guess I was wrong.”  You shrug, picking at the blanket that covers the small hospital mat.

It seems that Carmilla has given up interrupting you, because now she’s moved from her place on the foot your bed to your side and her left hand has found its way to your right one. Its warmth makes you even more delirious than the cocktail of medicine that seems to be working faster than you expected it to.

“So soccer became a thing,” you continue. Your head falls against Carmilla’s shoulder and you think maybe you should move it away, but you don’t. “I started to play it hard, in the hopes that maybe he’d notice me, he’d realize that _I_ hadn’t left. But he only ever had eyes for you. It was hockey this, hockey that _-_ _Karnstein_ this, _Karnstein_ that. No matter what I did, it was never enough for him.”

Carmilla squeezes your hand and you feel your eyelids growing heavy. You try to keep them open, but everything comes barreling down - your mother, your father, soccer, running, your ankle - _Carmilla_.

It’s all too much.

“I wasn’t enough - _I’m_ not enough for anyone.”

You feel something shifting on your side, but you’re too far gone to make any sense of what’s happening. You hear the echo of Carmilla’s voice next to you, but you can’t understand what she’s saying - _if_ she’s saying anything at all. Maybe she isn’t; there’s a good chance you’re imagining this whole thing.

Just then, your brain picks up on her words from earlier. Between her harsh words and everything you’ve told her, you realize one thing:

“You called me Laura.” You whisper.

And then you pass out.

 

* * *

 

If you had known that all it would take for you to balance the equation of Laura Hollis was a trip to the emergency room, you would have punched her in the face a long time ago.

You want to feel relieved because she makes sense in your head now, but instead, your heart breaks a little bit every time her voice breaks just before she says the word Mom and when she falls asleep in the passenger seat of your car as you drive her home, she almost curls up on herself and it makes her look like a little kid.

You try not to think of Laura - more of a kid then than she is now - being constantly told she isn’t _enough_ through the actions of the people around her and you curse yourself because finally solving her _should_ mean the end of your fascination, but now all you want to do is work backwards from this solution to see if you can twist pieces of her equation into something else. Maybe you don’t like that the coefficient to her variable is her mother running away and taking Laura’s sixteen year old innocence with her.

You don’t know how to feel about you feeling that way.

It takes another fifteen minutes before you finally turn into her street and she’s asleep throughout. You pat her on the head to finally wake her up when you roll up to her driveway and she blinks sleepily at you for a few minutes before anything seems to register in her mind.

“Remember to wear your walking boot as much as possible.” You say because she’s all Bambi eyes and the word adorable springs to mind and you really don’t want to think about how young it makes her look because that takes you back to her mother leaving her and that, in turn, makes you so unbelievably angry that your hands clench into fists.

“Ice every two hours for twenty minutes.” She yawns. “Elevate with my toes above the level of my nose.”

“You got it, cupcake. You need help getting out?”

Laura shakes her head and she sits and looks at you for several seconds before she says, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She opens the passenger side door, “Text me when you get home.”

“I don’t have your phone number and I only live five seconds away.” You’re smiling, can’t help it.

Laura squints at you and then pulls her phone out of her pocket. She hands it over without preamble and you put your information into the designated boxes before returning it to her. She fiddles with it and looks satisfied when your own phone vibrates in the cup holder you had dropped it in when you first got into the car.

“Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.”

You let your head drop to rest against the steering wheel when Laura shuts the door behind her because she’s annoying and uptight but you understand her now and if it was difficult before to label her simply as a jerk, it’s damn near impossible in this moment.

//

You don’t see her again until three days later when you’re coming home from practice. She’s sitting on the top step of her front porch, her chin resting on the heel of her palm. It’s like an out of body experience, you feel like you’re watching yourself pull into her driveway instead of actually doing it, and you don’t mean to be here, but whatever you had nothing planned for the afternoon anyway.

“Where you headed, cutie?”

She kicks her walking boot up in the air, “Literally nowhere.”

You roll down your window completely so that you can poke your head out to get a better look at her. She’s in sweatpants and some sort of soccer shirt and she looks like someone just stole Pokemon cards from her or something.

You feel sorry for her, but this isn’t pity. This weird pull you can feel towards her it’s curiosity and who knows what else rolled into one, but it’s not pity. Maybe it’s closer to infatuation.

“What are you, a grumpy five year old?”

Laura huffs and crosses her arms. Her face scrunches up for a millisecond before she glares at you instead of replying.

“Is the little sports robot upset she can’t boss her teammates around today?”

“Shut up, I do not do that.”

“Sure, Stalin.” You want to kick yourself because of what you’re going to say next. “Wanna get some tea? I’m fresh out of better things to do.”

“Aren’t you gonna offer me some vodka first?”

“I call you Stalin _once_ and you’re after my Absolut all of a sudden?” She smiles and starts making her way down the steps and it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”

You can hear her indignant _shut up_ even after you roll up your window.

//

“Eat your cookie.”

Laura crosses her arms and leans back in her seat, “No.”

“I spent money on that, Hollis.”

“You eat it then.”

You roll your eyes and you sigh because she is _such_ a child and this grumpy-about-injuries act she’s got going on is almost as bad as her sports robot lapses.

“We’ll split it. You need to have some too because you’ll be less of a piss off after.”

“This isn’t one of those Snickers commercials, Carmilla.” Her arms remain crossed even after you break the cookie in half. “I’m not all of a sudden gonna _feel like myself_ again, I still have this stupid walking boot on.”

You break her half off into seven more or less equal portions before you look up at her and she only glares back.

“I played your stupid game last time. It’s your turn.”

Laura seems to consider it for a moment and she even uncrosses her arms as she looks down at the cookie pieces laid out in front of her. Her jaw clenches and it distracts you because the motion sharpens her jawline to the point where you don’t have a choice other than to admire its angles.

“Alright, I’ll play.” She purses her lips. “But I get to ask you ten questions.”

“Seven cookie pieces equals seven facts, cutie.” You can’t help the smirk that stretches your mouth. “Math really isn’t your strong suit, huh?”

She huffs and crosses her arms again and you’re glad for her hesitance because you have no clue what kind of information to volunteer.

“Fine. But I get to ask questions.”

Your first instinct is to say no because you didn’t get to choose what parts of her she shared with you, but after a moment you realize how much easier this would be for you if there were set parameters for every question. At least then you’d know how _not to_ step out of them because this weird almost friends thing feels kind of like you’re walking a tightrope and Laura has a knack for making you lose your balance.

“Fine.”

She nods and all you can do is watch as she eats every piece of cookie and then washes it all down with her tea. Afterwards, she pulls her phone out and it takes you a moment before you realize she’s not playing by the rules.

“Where are my seven questions?”

She smiles and you have to rub a hand over your knee because that smile makes your palms itch, “You never said I had to ask them now.”

//

You’re not really sure how it happens, but somehow, you and Laura Hollis start going to the Starbucks on campus regularly after your bi-weekly afternoon practices.

Some days she brings her homework along and you sit across from her, reading one of the many books you keep stashed in the trunk of your car. Other days she seems content taking pointless pictures of her chai tea latte and pestering you about which filter makes it look better.

The one constant is that her mood never seems to improve.

You understand - perhaps more than anyone - that injuries are shitty and that they can drive someone up the wall, but Laura’s flat voice and short temper gets on your nerves especially after she comments one day as you’re dropping her off at home that she’ll see you the next morning for your run.

“That has to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.” You tell her as she’s climbing out the passenger side door.

“I can’t just keep sitting at home doing nothing, Carm - “

“You can.” Her face scrunches up and then she’s glaring at you, her little hands balled into fists. “And you will if you don’t want your ankle to get any worse.”

“What are you, an injury expert? Oh, wait, you _are_.”

You choose to ignore the jab at your history because you’re starting to figure out that Laura is rude as a defensive mechanism and there are much more pressing matters right now than her baiting you into an argument.

"Do you know what happens if your ankle doesn’t heal right?” She rolls her eyes and shuts the door on you, but you’re not done so you get out of the car to follow her up to her front door. You read all the pamphlets the doctor had thrust into your hands that Laura had subsequently left in your car, you _know_ the risks this poses to her career. “You could potentially never regain the full range of motion in your kicking leg. You want that?”

She spins around so quickly that her hair almost hits you in the face.

“I don’t care - “

“You really want to start being mediocre at the one thing you’re actually good at?”

That shuts her up and you want to feel satisfied because you’ve put her in her place for now, but her eyes are so wide that you kind of hate yourself for not being more gentle with her.

“Look, cutie - “

Laura shakes her head and starts walking backwards toward her house, “No, no. I’ll see you whenever I see you.” You watch her fumble for her keys in her jacket pocket and you’re just about to turn around and go when she says, “Thanks for the common sense.”

“Yeah, anytime.”

//

Your morning runs aren’t as eventful without Laura, but you’re sure as hell glad that she’s resting her ankle instead of coming along.

You push yourself as hard as you do when she’s around and you can feel your limit extending with every day that you lace up your running shoes, but the burning desire in your lungs to fly on flat ground is as absent as she is.

Practice gets easier and easier as your fitness improves and your timing on the ice gets better. Kirsch comes out to play one-on-one with you sometimes at night to help get you back in game shape and it’s during a water break during one of these sessions that you notice him studying you.

“What?” You lean over the boards with your left arm so you can put your water back in front of the bench.

He cuts to the chase, “You’re scared of getting hit.”

You feel a twinge in your knee and a shiver runs down your spine at the thought of your head hitting the ice again, but you shake your head at him because you’re sure that fear will pass after you get a few games under your belt.

“You _so_ are.” He takes a stride and pushes at your shoulder. “You’re not gonna break. Just take the contact.”

“I’ve _taken_ contact. I’ve practiced four times now.”

“As if any of them touched you.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his Gatorade bottle before doing his helmet up again. “First to five?”

The rules of your little game are simple enough. You take turns starting with the puck at centre ice and play one-on-one from there. The only goals that count are ones scored off the post and in. It’s a fast-paced activity and Kirsch might not be the best skater out there, but he’s got the hockey smarts you’d expect of someone good enough to make Silas University’s men’s hockey team and he’s _a lot_ bigger than you are.

You go first, as usual, but instead of crowding you immediately like he does, Kirsch backs off. You realize only when it’s too late that it’s because he’s trying to get you lined up. And God, you should have expected it, but you honestly don’t see it coming until it’s too late to do anything other than prepare yourself to take a hit.

The right angle made by his bent left arm collides solidly with your shoulder and it sends you flying off of your feet. You land awkwardly on your back and it takes you a moment before you are able to catch your breath. When you do, though, you waste no time dropping your stick, shaking your gloves off, and throwing yourself at your idiot of a best friend because _what the fuck_.

He absorbs your body slamming into him and you can’t help but growl when it takes him little to no effort in order to push you back.

Kirsch is laughing. He’s laughing and you want to punch him square in the jaw because there is nothing funny about being put on your ass by a man twice your size.

“What the _fuck_ was that for?”

He grins and you‘re still mad, but more concerned for your well-being so you stretch your left leg out a little and you put all your weight on it and the smile on Kirsch’s face only widens when you’re done making sure nothing’s been re-aggravated.

“You,” he begins, picking up your gloves while you bend to grab your stick by its blade, “just took a hit for the first time since May thirteenth.”

“So?”

“So you didn’t break did you?”

No, no you didn’t.

He sent you _flying_ and you’re fine.

For the first time since the injury, you honestly believe you’re going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find us both on Tumblr: [hedalexsa](http://hedalexsa.tumblr.com) and [sedinbrothers](http://sedinbrothers.tumblr.com). Come say hi!


	7. February - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka things are finally starting to look up after all.
> 
> Happy #Carmillapocalypse!

Over the next few weeks, you do your best impression of - essentially - a fish out of water.

You miss being on the field. LaF does their best to keep you in the loop after every game and practice by calling you and talking soccer with you, but it’s nowhere near the same. They also pester you about why exactly you keep wearing yourself out with your unscheduled runs.

“That’s the only way I can leave behind all the stupid mistakes I keep making.” You finally snap at them one day.

They don’t call you again.

//

You're allowed to get rid of the walking boot after you go to the doctor on the first day of the month, but you're still not allowed to play which is _stupid_. He bends your ankle every which way and presses his thumbs against your skin so roughly that Carmilla glares at him throughout the rest of the appointment.  
  
Yeah, Carmilla now goes to the doctor's with you. On that particular day, she also went to the physiotherapist with you afterward. In fact, she's with you more often than not these days and you can no longer find it in you to be bothered by it. If you're being honest, you'd admit that you actually _like_ talking to her. She's made a habit of driving you places and letting you turn on the radio station that you don't really like, but are used to. She also keeps buying you tea and splitting cookies with you.  
  
Sometimes, when you're sitting across from her at Starbucks, you catch yourself _staring_. There's an undeniable grace in the way she flips through the pages of her books. It takes her maybe ten slow blinks before she finishes reading a page and her fingers tease at the corner of the paper for approximately half a second before she turns it and it's so mechanical that you are fascinated.  
  
Carmilla in every other part of her life, you've learned, is anything but mechanical.  
  
She's like a volcano. That's the only comparison you can come up with. She's perfectly content being her apathetic self until something sets her off into an explosion of fire and rage. You find that you get her going sometimes without even meaning to, but that also some things you say set off an explosion of flower petals - like from that one Sony commercial you saw not too long ago while watching the news - instead of the fire. It's times like these that Carmilla smiles - smiles! - and rubs her left hand against her knee, another habit of hers you've noticed, and you decide you like the petal explosion more than the other kind.  
  
You also like to think that you thinking these things is a direct result of the painkillers you still sometimes have to take.

//

On Valentine's Day, you bundle yourself up in the thickest clothes you own and head down to the ice rink.

Carmilla had mumbled something about finally being able to play during the day that people are supposed to spend with their loved ones. You'd mocked her for insinuating that the only thing she loves is hockey and she'd just rolled her eyes and very dryly said, "Also, math."

(You’ve also learned this about her. That she genuinely _loves_ math. Loves it to the point that during your first morning back running with her, she’d talked your ear off about the different angles and inclines of the road you’re running on - construction had been done on it while you were recovering - for a good ten minutes, _smiling_ the whole time.)

But you know this game is important for her. You've seen the fight she had to put up just to get back to a point where she can play again, you see how much more relaxed she is after having spent an afternoon at the rink, and she's been so much _lighter_ since she was given the news that she's allowed to play again. It’s kind of scary.

You take your usual seat when you get there. The national anthems had just finished and an elderly woman frowns at you, you assume, because of the fact that you missed an opportunity to sing your devotion to the maple leaf.

“She’s a grumpy one.” Carmilla’s tall friend tells you when he notices you glaring back. He holds his hand out and you shake it. “Kirsch.”

“We already know each other.”

He shakes his head, “Laura, dude, no offense, but I only knew you from the times I had to stop Carmilla or SJ from tackling you to the ground. So like, we should start over.”

He’s easy enough to talk to, but as soon as the game starts, he seems to lose interest in everything other than it. You’re kind of the same, but mostly you’re watching number thirteen sitting across the ice surface from you on the bench, her head down, waiting for her first shift in almost a year.

When Carmilla finally throws her legs over the boards and jumps onto the ice for the first time during a stoppage in play, the crowd gives her a standing ovation that is so loud you can feel the vibrations of the noise under your feet.

It’s the loudest you’ve heard this arena get _ever,_ but then Carmilla scores her first goal of the year late in the third period to win the game and you have to take back the statement.

//

You’ve stopped expecting practice to be anything other than a total mess, so it surprises you when the team is quick to begin the warm up jog during your first practice back.

“They missed you.” Perry says, smiling as she runs beside you. LaFontaine, on your other side, nudges you with their elbow in a way that you know means you’ve been forgiven for your bad phone manners.

Dusk is breaking over on the horizon behind you and you look back in an attempt to get a good view of it just in time to see Sarah Jane whip Elsie in the head with her obnoxiously long ponytail. You have to laugh because your teammates have never been your priority when it comes to the game, but you can’t deny that you’ve missed them, too.

It turns out to be the smoothest practice you’ve ever had as a team and the girls all high-five you on their way out the door of the locker room afterwards. You give up trying to get out of your own equipment midway through the steady stream of teammates calling for your attention and accept that you’ll be the last one out.

When it all clears out, though, you’re surprised to find LaF still sitting in their stall dressed in street clothes.

You smile at them and get started on your cleats as they get up. You figure you’ll get a high five, but they lay a wooden box down on the bench beside you instead.

“Whenever I had problems as a kid, I got into playground fights to make myself feel better. But Perry didn’t like that so I learned to be better. I’d picture my problems leaving my brain like Dumbledore’s memories and then I’d lock them up in that.” You smile at the Harry Potter reference and LaF points at the box. “Your mistakes, Laur? They’d fit in there.”

Your throat clogs up and you can’t seem to find any words so you get up and hug them. You’re not sure if the hug is an apology or a show of gratitude, but it doesn’t matter.

“I love you, alright? Start taking better care of yourself or else Perr will do it for you.”

You both laugh and they step back to smile at you. You wonder what good you did in a past life to deserve friends as good as they and Perry have been to you.

//

Carmilla is waiting in the parking lot for you afterwards. She’s leaning against her car, arms crossed, and a bored expression on her face.

When you walk up to her, she blurts out, “Hi, how are you?”

_What the hell?_

And you must have said that out loud because she rolls her eyes as she unlocks the car. You hadn’t ridden your bike since the injury and you don’t really see a point in going back to that mode of transportation either now that Carmilla seems willing to chauffeur you places.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask her once you’re all buckled in. You reach across the space in between your seat and hers to press the back of your hand to her forehead. “Are you running a fever?”

She swats your hand away, “You’re an asshole.”

“How am I? _Seriously?_ Since when do we exchange pleasantries?”

Carmilla only glares at you before starting the engine and backing out of her parking spot. You wait until she’s taken the turn that determines whether or not she’s bringing you home or to Starbucks - she turns towards Starbucks - before you start talking again.

She knows more about you than you do about her and you thought at first that she’d leave you alone now that she’s figured out exactly why you’re so fucked up, but instead she seems more willing to put up with you and you know in the back of your mind that a part of that is probably because of pity, but you try to ignore it.

“What’s your favorite colour?”

"Does this count as one of the questions you've been hoarding?"

You can't help but roll your eyes at her, "Sure."

“Black.” She answers almost immediately.

“That’s a lie.” You turn to glare at her and she’s smirking. “You like burgundy best.”

“If you knew, then why did you ask?”

_Damn her logic._

Soon enough, Carmilla’s parking the car and getting out to grab whatever book she’s decided to occupy herself with for the evening. This one is more worn than the others and has a faded baby blue cover. She watches you shrug on your backpack — the box makes a satisfying rattling noise against what you assume is your pencil case —  before shutting her trunk.

“You ready?”

 _God,_ nice Carmilla is _weird._

You only nod at her.

She leads you to your usual table and gestures for you to sit so you do. She sets her book down on the surface before shrugging off her jacket and draping it over her chair.

“What are you doing today?” She asks, arms crossed and feet shoulder width apart. She looks like it pains her to make small talk and you kind of don’t understand why she’s attempting to do so because the amount of times the two of you have argued _should_ mean you’re past that. But then you remember she knows about your Mom and it makes sense that she’s making an effort to be nicer.

“Calculus.” You hold up your text book as evidence. Carmilla flicks a piece of lint off of her sleeve and studies you for a moment. Her eyebrows quirk and the corners of her lips tug up into a small smirk.

“That’s easy.” She says, waving her hand as if dismissing the fact that Calculus actually takes effort for normal people.

“Well we can’t all be geniuses like you, Carm.” She rolls her eyes at you. You ignore her and keep talking. “What’s today’s book called?”

She reads out: _What Is Mathematics? An Elementary Approach to Ideas and Methods._

“That sounds revolting.”

“Actually, it was revolutionary in its time.”

That makes you laugh and Carmilla scratches at her knee before saying, “Shall I get the usual then?”

You try focus on your work while she’s gone, but you get stuck on the first question and instead of trying to find the point when two trains will be in the same place, you think of how much it would suck to get kicked off the team because of your low GPA.

 _Sink or swim,_ Coach had said and as you watch Carmilla pick her way through the other tables and chairs to get back to you, you realize he never said you couldn’t find yourself one of those lifesavers kids use to make sure they don’t drown.

“Thank you.” You tell her when she places a cup in front of you. Carmilla just hums in response as she takes her own seat and tosses the wrapped cookie in between the two of you. You go back to your work and she picks up her book, but after a few minutes, you decide a passing grade in Calculus might be worth more than being in eternal debt to Carmilla Karnstein.

Your sigh catches her attention and she raises an eyebrow in your direction while flipping a page. How do you even go about asking her for help?

“What’s wrong?”

“You really wanna know?”

She shrugs, “I already know I regret asking.”

That’s more like the Carmilla you know and loved to hate.

“You’re being too nice.” You say after taking a deep breath and she lowers her book in surprise. “You feel sorry for me, I get it. But I feel sorry enough for myself and you being _nice_ \- it’s _weird,_ Carmilla.”

“Look, Laura - “

“You never even used to call me that - “

 _“Look, Laura.”_ She glares and you can’t help the smile that appears on your face. “I’ll be as nice as I want. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

“Sorry.” You offer.

“Whatever.” She exaggerates the movement of raising her book back to eye level and normal people would probably take it as a sign to leave her alone, but you never recall _her_ shutting up so you're not about to afford her the luxury of peace and quiet. You don't know how to _ask_ though, so you do end up sitting there in silence for a bit, just staring.

 _God,_ you stare for so long that it should be embarrassing, but you like the way she turns pages and occasionally sips her drink without breaking rhythm. You're curious about her. It only makes sense that you try figuring her out by watching her, right?

It's only when she looks up that you turn your head down.

Carmilla sighs in exasperation before saying, "Alright, I'll bite. What's wrong now?"

“I’m - there’s a - my coach said that - I need to get a really good mark in Calculus, Carm." You can't look at her because asking for help, it's _embarrassing._ "And I'm no good at it, but you are! You read these math books all the time and - "

You cut yourself off when you realize that Carmilla's reaching across the table to turn your textbook towards her. It takes her barely a moment to read the question.

"Optimization. A five year old could do this.” Carmilla taps at the book. “Here. Start here.”

You’re a little uneasy about starting anywhere without further instruction and you’re about to tell her so, but your train of thought derails when she looks up at you. Her mouth is turned up at the corners and if you didn’t know any better, you’d describe the way she’s looking at you as fond.

Holy crap, _that smile._

She says, “I’ll talk you through it. Come on. My coffee’s getting cold.”

//

After you get home that night, you take a shower and spend an immeasurable amount of time looking at yourself in the mirror afterwards.

You look like your mother, no doubt about it. Your have her eyes and your hair is the same colour and you can even see parts of her in the way you smile. The thought that a carbon copy of her would be staring back at you in the mirror a few years from now makes you lean on your elbows against the bathroom counter.

You had felt almost liberated when you’d finally kind of admitted to Carmilla that you needed help in the subject you’re struggling in the most. Getting help in an area you have difficulty with had made life easier and it made you realize that you kind of like it that way.

“I need help.” You say. Your voice shakes and you have to run your palms up past your cheeks and into your hair because your fingers need something to hold on to. “I need help. I need help.”

When you look back up at the mirror, you only see your own eyes staring back at you.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere along the way, hanging out with Laura becomes _normal_ for you. Even more so, it becomes something you expect to happen, and it sometimes throws you off a bit how she’s managed to worm her way into your life in the way she has.

Between helping her with classes, running and even accompanying her to her doctor’s appointments, it’s like - well, it’s like you've become _friends,_ or something equally as weird. You drive her to places and you share your food with her and, the thing is, you don’t _mind._ Ever since the hospital and Laura spilling her beans to you, you feel something in your chest that just wants to make sure that that girl will never have to suffer again in her life. And it’s fucked up, because you don’t like Laura Hollis.

If anything, you can’t _stand_ her.

But then you think of the way her nose twitches whens she’s focusing too hard on a question in one of her assignments, or how she seems so determined to get back on her feet even after so many things have tried to knock her down, and - you’ve got to admit to yourself, you might not _like_ Laura and you might not even want to be her friend, but you admire her.

Hell, you can’t even fool yourself anymore. You admire the _hell_ out of that girl.

So maybe that explains why you put up with her on a daily basis.

//

You might go to Laura’s doctor’s appointments with her, but she doesn’t go to yours with you.

Actually, you’re sure she _would_ if you told her, but you make a point not to do that. You don’t want Laura around if you ever receive some bad news again.

It’s unlikely, of course. You’ve been doing insanely better - you know that - but some part of you is still scared that it’s gonna all come crumbling down again sometime soon. A part of you still can’t believe that you’ve managed to get back on your feet after everything that’s happened, and though you’re proud of yourself for how far you’ve come, you can’t help the part of you that’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. The part of you that knows that everything you love gets taken away from you and there’s never been anything you were able to do to stop that.

You try not to think of your mother. Your father. Your home. Will.

(It’s not a surprise that you fail.)

“Come on,” Kirsch punches your shoulder. You think he might have noticed the way your eyes have glazed over, but he doesn’t say anything. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’ll ever have a chance to introduce him to your brother. And like all the other times when thoughts of Will slip into your mind, you quickly shake them off. They’re usually too much for you to handle. “It’s gonna be okay, stop worrying.”

You look at the way Kirsch is smiling like a goof at you and you roll your eyes, “You don’t know that, dumbass. For all you know, the doctor is waiting to tell me that I’ll never play again.”

He scoffs, “You know that’s not gonna happen. You’re _fine._ Good as new, bro.”

Something about his words make you less jittery. Maybe you’d been feeling less nervous with Laura by your side, yeah, but _Kirsch._ Kirsch is your guy. You don’t think there’s anyone in this world who understands you more than he does, and it’s kind of a wonder, because Kirsch doesn’t really get a lot of things. Not math, not philosophy, certainly not _girls._

But he gets you. And you can’t help but be grateful for his presence in your life.

When your name is called, Kirsch nudges his shoulder against yours and nods towards the door, “Come on, let’s get you cleared to kick some ass again.”

//

You're at Starbucks with Laura and you're trying to find a subtle way to slip into the conversation the fact that the doctor has cleared you to play.

 _Actually_ play, you mean, and not just practice and pretend you're doing shit for your team.

She's focused on her homework - the way her eyebrows are pressed together and she's biting hard on her lower lip is enough indication on what particular subject she's working on - and you don't really want to interrupt her, but you don't think you can keep it to yourself any longer.

You might burst if you try.

“The doctor has cleared me to play,” you mumble, and Laura looks up at you with a raised eyebrow. “Next game. Uh, on Valentine’s Day. I guess that’s fitting, huh?”

Laura looks up at your words and her nose is scrunched up in that way that you’ve come to know means that she’s trying to make sense of things, and when the lines on her forehead smooth out and a smile takes over her lips, you know she understood you.

Her lips turn in a smirk, “Figures. You _do_ love hockey.”

You’re glad for the small jab, but even more so that she’s not making a big deal about this. She winks at you and goes back to her homework, and you feel something going insane in your stomach, but you don’t think too much of it.

After a few minutes - when your brain catches up to the exchange you’ve just had with her - you lean back against your seat and lets out a mumbled, “And math.”

She looks up from her homework again and grins at you, but doesn’t say anything. You didn’t ask her to be there and she didn’t mention anything about attending, but you can’t really blame her if she doesn’t. Hockey might be the best thing in the world for you, but you know that it’s probably the extreme opposite for Laura, so you don’t even think to push the subject.

You know she’s happy for you.

(And you can’t help but wonder when that became something you cared about.)

//

When Valentine’s Day rolls around, you can barely keep yourself still.

The locker room is buzzing and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so _at home_ in a place as you do sitting with your back pressed against the cold tile walls and Danny sitting next to you, doing that weird thing she does when she’s tying her skates.

(It’s like a ritual of hers and you’ve learned not to question it.)

“How are you feeling?” she asks you. You watch as she presses her skates together and studies them carefully before giving herself a satisfied nod. “Nervous?”

There’s something about this moment that feels strangely familiar to you, and it takes you a moment to realize why. When you do, you can’t help the grin that stretches your lips, “I’m just ready to do some damage.”

Danny is quiet for a moment and you wonder if she’s even gonna remember the words, but then she punches your shoulder and you know that she got it. “Dude,” she shakes her head. “Don’t jinx yourself like that. _Fuck,_ Karnstein.”

In the back of your mind, you think maybe she _has_ a point. But it’s been almost an _year._ And so much has happened in that time that you still have some trouble even wrapping your mind around it. The accident. The surgeries. Physical therapy. Pain. Pain. Pain. Laura.

Everything has changed. You’re not the same anymore, neither of you are. Not you, not Laura, not Danny or Kirsch. Not Laura’s friends or your acquaintances from your classes. Hell, not even your Starbucks drink is the same as it was back in May.

You think you’re _better_ now. Stronger than you were almost a year ago. And if anyone had asked, you wouldn’t say such thing was possible because you already felt pretty strong back then, all high and mighty in your assumptions that nothing could bring you down anymore. But what did you know, really? It seemed that life had a knack for proving you wrong from time to time - and that usually _angered_ you more than anything, but you find that you can’t really be mad at last year’s events.

Not when they’ve brought you to this point in your journey.

“Relax,” you say, giving Danny’s knee pad a playful shove, which does nothing to lessen the glare she’s throwing at you. Sighing, you throw your hands up. “Look, it’s gonna be fine. I’ll do my best not to almost die out there, okay? Promise.”

She doesn’t look convinced at all, but she nods anyway. “You better, you asshole. I’m too young for a heart attack.”

It seems that she’s still mad at your words, though, because she wraps her arm around your neck and pulls you into a headlock, using her fisted hand to mess up your hair in that annoyingly big sister way she tends to slip into from time to time. You wonder - not for the first time - how you’ve managed to end up with Danny and Kirsch as your two closest friends, but then you decide it’s best not to dwell on that.

It doesn’t seem like you’ll be managing to get rid of them anytime soon, anyway.

“I really fucking hate you,” you tell her once she removes her grip from your neck, just as Coach Hollis walks into the locker room and the girls all line up on the benches for his pep talk.

Pep talks have always been hard for you because of his same old pathetic speech, but now they _really_ get on your nerves. You’re trying your best not to outright disrespect him - he _is_ your Coach, after all - but you find that you can’t really deal with his bullshit about taking chances and not missing anything when he’s ignoring his daughter everyday and actively missing out on her entire life because he can’t get his shit together long enough to see how much of a hypocrite he is.

He mentions you on his speech and how happy he is that you’re able to play again, and - honestly, the whole thing just makes you want to throw up a bit. He’s unbelievable. His daughter is one of the best soccer players you’ve ever seen in your life, and yet he’s standing in front of you - a beat up and bruised hockey player - trying to build you up and singing you praises that you absolutely are _not_ worthy.

But you’re not going to let him ruin your first game back. You’re his player and he is your Coach. That’s all.

The fact that he is a shitty person needs to stay out of the rink for now.

(You don’t think you’ll be able to keep it like that for much longer, though.)

//

The sound that erupts from the stands when you slide onto the ice is absolutely _insane._

It washes away every bad feeling you could be having about this. It washes away the pain and suffering, the months and months of recovery and the frustration that came with it. Everything - from your doctor’s diagnosis to Coach Hollis’ bullshit-filled pep talks - suddenly don’t matter anymore.

When the blades of your skates slice the ice and you feel that your knee doesn’t give out under the weight of your body, everything finally feels _right._

And then you look at the stands, towards the place where you know Kirsch will be waving at you like an overly-excited puppy and you see _her_ . You see Laura, sitting next to your best friend, clad from head to toe in Silas colors and you don’t want to be standing in the middle of the rink smiling like an idiot, but when Danny skates past you, gives you a slap on the head and tells you to _‘Get to skating, idiot’,_ you realize that that’s exactly what you’ve been doing.

But you find that you don’t really care.

You want to focus on the game and how the crowd is cheering you on, but you find that - once you make a move past the other team’s defense and you manage to shoot the puck into the back of the net - that Laura’s little scream of celebration is the only sound in that arena that matters to you.

You can feel the ground shaking beneath your feet and you can see each and every eye celebrating your accomplishment, but once everything is said and done and your first game back is over and your friends want to go out to celebrate, it hits you that you only want to go to a Starbucks and sit across from Laura, teasing her about the homework she has yet to finish and the questions about herself she still won’t fully answer.

You’ve been hanging around her for a few months now, but it’s only then that you realize that you actually _want_ her around.

Kirsch and Danny are your best friends, there’s no way you can even deny that anymore.

But maybe Laura Hollis is worming her way into that group faster than you thought possible.

//

There’s a shift.

You want to say that things haven’t changed, that learning about Laura’s mother leaving and realizing how much of an asshole her father _really_ is doesn’t make a difference in your relationship - or lack thereof - with her, but you _can’t_. Because it _does._ And you’re kind of surprised to realize it’s not even a bad thing, not really.

For some reason, you just want to make things easier for her. It’s ironic to think, really, that out of all the people to help you get better and overcome the biggest adversities of your life, Laura Hollis would be the most important one. And after everything you’ve learned, you can’t really turn your back on her. You spent some time in the past few months thinking that maybe having Laura around made you better, but the truth is, it’s not one-sided.

When you think of Laura actually going somewhere with you and sharing things about her life and accepting that maybe she was pushing herself too hard, you can’t help but come to the conclusion that maybe - just maybe - you help her just as much as she helps you.

(Surprisingly enough, that thought doesn’t scare you nearly as much as you thought it would.)

You’re so caught up in your thoughts of Laura and recovery and being _better,_ that when she walks up to you after practice and you notice something different in her eyes, your first reaction is to be _nice._ Which, well, kinda weird for you, but you decide to roll with it.

“Hi, how are you?”

It’s fucking lame and you don’t even need Laura’s surprised remark to know that, but you’re still kinda hurt that she even thought it at all. So you roll your eyes and you get into your car, and you ignore the way she fawns over you as if you’re _sick,_ because it really does say a lot about your relationship that you being remotely nice to her has her thinking you’re acting weird.

You tell her that she’s an asshole and the familiarity of the word does seem to placate her for a bit, but then she’s asking inane questions about your favorite color and you can’t help but indulge her, because, what the hell, really. You’ve asked her how she was and you’re taking her to get food, you don’t think being nice is that much of a crime.

To be completely honest, you don’t know _why_   you’re being nice. And maybe that is a problem in itself, but you decide it’s best to focus on things such as getting your usual order and go on with your reading while Laura focuses on her homework. You’re a mathematics major and you’ve learned a long time ago that there are variables you can’t control. Your relationship with Laura - whatever it may be - is filled with those variables. There are too many unknown factors for you to factor in yet. And until you’ve discovered them, you’ll never be able to solve this equation.

You used to think that Laura was a problem of her own, but - as you watch her frown and bite her lip as she looks down at her calculus book - you realize that this problem is bigger than you’ve originally thought. Laura is but a mere part of it, and - you recognize this now - _you_ are too. And things like your respective lives and experiences, along with your experiences _together_ are only more pieces that you know will amount to something bigger, you just don’t really know _what_ yet.

And it’s frustrating, yes. But if math has taught you anything is that you have to be patient if you want to find the answer to something.

Rushing won’t get you anywhere.

Laura, apparently, has yet to learn that lesson.

“What’s wrong?” you ask her, because by now you’ve learned that she’ll just keep sighing and making noises until you finally give up and take the bait, so you might as well save some time on that game.

You’re taken by surprise, however, when Laura wastes no time accusing you of feeling sorry for her. You slowly lower your book as you take some time to gather your thoughts because, of all the things you thought Laura might be sighing about, that particular accusation most definitely _hadn’t_ crossed your mind.

And it’s kind of ridiculous, really. You’ve felt a lot of things towards Laura Hollis, but _sorry_ has never been one of them. If there’s one thing you hate in your life is thinking people might pity you in any way at all, and you can’t even begin to think of doing that to Laura. Not when the only thing you’ve felt in the past month is a growing admiration that you’ve tried your best to quench but has failed spectacularly.

“Look, Laura - “

“You never even used to call me that - “

You glare at her when she interrupts you and you even push yourself forward a little; there’s a point you need to make an you need her to understand it. _“Look, Laura._ I’ll be as nice as I want. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

It’s pretty straightforward and you’re kind of scared that she _will_ leave, but - honestly, this whole thing is stupid. You can’t imagine ever feeling sorry for Laura, and if she thinks that, then maybe your friendship is not quite what you thought it was.

She apologizes and you know she means it, from the way her eyes are wide and her lips are slightly parted in that way that just makes her look like a deer caught in headlights, but you still make a show of going back to your reading because - well, your feelings _are_ a bit hurt.

(You hate that she’s managed to get under your skin like this.)

You’re hoping for a few minutes of peace to get your thoughts in order, but for some reason, Laura continues to stare at you. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re gonna slip into a discussion about you being nice or whatever, but she’s _still_ staring at you, and you know how stubborn Laura Hollis can be when she’s on a mission, so you just lower your book again and you ask her what’s wrong because you really don’t have all night to deal with whatever issues you two might be having right now.

“I’m - there’s a - my coach said that - I need to get a really good mark in Calculus, Carm. And I'm no good at it, but you are! You read these math books all the time and - "

You don’t want to find the way she’s fumbling with her words to be _cute,_ but - well, it’s _Laura._ You’ve accepted that being cute is as much a part of her as being annoying is, so you just don’t question it anymore. Instead, you reach for her book and you try to bite the smile that comes to your lips when you consider this whole situation, but you really, _really_ can’t.

She might be stubborn and complicated and incredibly frustrating at time, but there’s no denying things anymore.

You _care_ about that idiot.

(Maybe it’s time to start warning people that the end of the world is fast approaching.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find us both on Tumblr: [hedalexsa](http://hedalexsa.tumblr.com) and [sedinbrothers](http://sedinbrothers.tumblr.com).


	8. March - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka where Laura is finally starting to get her shit together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little story hit 1k kudos? What?
> 
> We appreciate every single one of them and we adore your comments both here and on Tumblr! So thanks very much to you guys!
> 
> And special thanks to Kaitlyn who has to tell us chapter after chapter that we're still making sense!

The thing about being Laura’s unofficial Calculus tutor is that it is, frankly, exhausting.

She spends more time staring at the problem and triple checking if she’s done every step right than actually doing the math and you’re slightly puzzled by her hesitation because math is all about failing forward and Laura seems to want to skip the failing part despite it sometimes being completely necessary.

“What are you doing?” You finally ask her after watching her read the problem over at least twenty times in her head.

“I don’t wanna get any of the numbers confused.”

You lean forward on your elbows and a smile that you don’t recall giving your body instruction to perform stretches your lips. Laura is _such_ a kid and it’s both infuriating and adorable at the same time. It takes you back to when you first took her here, all muddy from a soccer game but so goddamn serious that she was borderline robotic.

This Laura is worlds away from that one.

She huffs at your smile and that only makes it widen and it’s so ridiculous that you let your arms drop flat on the table and rest your chin on the back of your wrist instead of directly looking at her.

“What?” She asks, flicking an eraser crumb at your forehead. “I don’t want to start off wrong.”

“Cupcake, your whole life revolves around a domino effect of mistakes.” You laugh a bit because it’s like you’re quoting her father back at her with his _all sports are just strings of mistakes that turn into opportunity_ talk. “No harm making any on paper.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her tone shocks you into sitting back up in your chair, “Relax, I was just talking about soccer.”

“What about it?” Laura’s eyes flash dangerously. “You’re being a hypocrite.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes! You preach all this it’s not healthy to be caught up in your mistakes crap — “

“I do not preach — “

“— but then you go back and throw it in my face.” She shuts her textbook and punctuates her sentence with a glare. “I’m going home. See you later.”

 _Shit_ , you should probably apologize. But instead, what comes out is, “You really don’t know the definition of hypocrite, huh?”

Laura glares at you the whole time as she’s packing up her bag and you glare back. It’s kind of like the two of you exist in a weird little bubble for a few moments because you can’t even hear the stupid coffee shop music or the middle aged women at the table next to yours debating the merits of one anti-aging cream from another. The bubble pops loudly in your ears when Laura turns away and begins walking, though.

She doesn’t look back as she stalks out of the store with her backpack slung over one shoulder. You murmur a few choice curse words under your breath as you throw away all the garbage that’s still on the table.

Seriously, _exhausting_.

When you get out to the parking lot, Laura’s nowhere to be found and so you pull out your phone and send her _where the fuck did you go?_ and _are you fucking kidding me with this?_ and the _Read_ script flashes up under your texts, but she doesn’t reply.

You know you should probably stop muttering curses because there are children in this parking lot, but you’re so mad and a lot confused that you end up doing it anyway up until you slam the door of your car closed.

You’re never tutoring anyone ever again.

//

You catch up to her about two blocks from Starbucks. Of course, because she loves making your life difficult, she’s walking on the sidewalk attached to the road of traffic going the opposite direction. Her face is still scrunched up a little bit and you know there’s residual anger still present in her mind, but that stupid part of you that wants Laura to be happy because of some fucked up, unknown reason tells you that it’ll be okay to test that anger.

You crank your window down while trying to keep the steering wheel steady, “Hollis! Get in the car.”

She looks surprised to see you. Her face smooths over before she frowns at you. You don’t blame her. There are at least five cars behind you honking at how slow you’re driving and there’s probably a half-crazed expression on your face.

“I’m serious, Laura.” You have to look away from her for a moment so you can stick your middle finger up at the guy driving directly behind you because he is seriously _tailgating_. “Get. In. The. Car.”

You thank whatever higher power compels her to do as she’s told because the people behind you are getting very impatient and you’re too busy trying to ignore them to really yell at her. She scurries across the road and you stop momentarily so she can walk across to her side of the car.

Despite your anger, it makes you laugh when she yells out, “It’s a school zone, people!” before getting into the passenger seat.

God, _what the hell is wrong with you_?

It’s like all she has to do to get a positive reaction out of you is _exist_ and that annoys you to the point that you think back to the autumn months when she was an insufferable jerk. It actually  makes you feel better because _of course_ you’re reacting like this to this version of Laura. It seems like she’s finally getting back to herself — not that you even knew there was a Laura Hollis that named her erasers and drank pure sugar underneath the sports robot but whatever —  and you’re happy for her.

Yeah, that’s it. You’re just happy for her. That makes sense.

Your good spirit that comes from sorting yourself out is short-lived, however, because you’re not even out of what actually _is_ a school zone before Laura turns to you and says, “I’m still mad.”

“Mad that you can’t take a joke?”

“Mad that you’re making fun of me not risking a mistake when you still avoid the front of the net like it’s some sort of bottomless pit you can fall into.” Her voice is frighteningly quiet and you _hate_ her. “I’ve watched, what, three games now? And you’re still playing scared.”

You can’t focus on driving right now because all of your blood is rising to your face in anger and your fists are clenching as if on their own accord. So you pull over into the shoulder of the road as soon as you can and you don’t even have it in you to gesture rudely at the guy driving behind you who honks as he passes.

Breathing in and out deeply doesn’t help. It’s like you’re vibrating with raw, red fury.

Maxwell developed equations in 1870 that basically proved everything in nature had wave qualities. Like how dropping a rock into a calm body of water would produce ripples. You feel like Laura just threw a boulder into your calm pond.

But you’re like a standing wave. Like a guitar string that’s restricted to the guitar’s body. You can’t send your anger out past yourself like the rippling water because god knows you don’t want to upset the girl in the passenger seat even more by punching the daylights out of your steering wheel and so it kind of just wraps itself around you and your head feels like it’s _buzzing_.

And of course, like a guitar string, the vibrations cause sound.

“You expect me to be over it this quickly? When you’re not even over your asshole of a mother leaving you three years ago?”

Laura says very quietly, “You’re so fucked up.”

So you drive the rest of the way to her house in silence and she manages to make the words _thank you_ sound cold as she gets out.

//

You ask Kirsch to take you to the gym that night and after you’ve worked off your frustration, it occurs to you that for two people who are definitely not in any sort of friendly relationship, you and Laura Hollis sure do break up a lot.

//

You’re still angry, but you’re not about to abandon Laura in any way, shape, or form because that would just be cruel and so you wait for her at your usual corner the next morning so you can get started on your run.

She starts talking a mile a minute before she’s even ten feet away from you.

“I’m sorry. Yesterday, I was way out of line and you should have just left me on the side of the street and not even driven me home — “

You can practically feel your anger subsiding. So you just shrug off her apology and you’re about to get started with the running when she opens her mouth again.

“Don’t worry about it.” You say, cutting her off before she can begin. You pull the water bottle she always brings for you out of her grasp. “Thanks. We’re even.”

“No.” Laura grabs at your elbow and you both look down at her hand, but she doesn’t make a move to remove it. “It’s just that I — I get...like that sometimes because I don’t — I have to be perfect. For even my Dad to take a second look at me, I have to not make mistakes and you scare me! Because you’re all about failing forward or whatever and I don’t see how failing at anything can make you go forward — “

She takes a breath, “I’m sorry. I can learn to take a joke. Please don’t be mad anymore.”

Not for the first time, you want to scream at Laura’s father.

“I’m sorry too.” She shakes her head, but you keep going. “I shouldn’t have brought up your mother.”

“It’s okay. I deserved it.”

 _No Laura_ , you want to say, _you don’t deserve any of this crap_. But instead, you just return her small smile and let your legs follow the pace that hers begin to set.

//

Being able to play hockey again gives you such a rush and distracts you long enough that you don’t plan on doing anything about your growing need to yell at Laura’s father. That is until he calls you into his office before a game.

It’s an important one. You even made sure to arrive early so you can be fully present both physically and mentally during off-ice warm-ups. But when you get there, Danny greets you with a, “Coach wants to talk to you in his office.”

So you go.

Coach Hollis’s office is detached from the dressing room and you have to walk down the hallway a couple of steps to get to his door. You tap a quick knock out against the cold wood and he answers with a cheerful, “Come in!”

“You wanted to see me?”

He’s sitting at behind his desk, clipboard in hand. The way he’s got his eyebrows furrowed as he scribbles words down on paper reminds you of Laura.

Oh, God.

“I did.” He smiles and gestures to one of the chairs across from him. “Take a seat.”

When you don’t move, he just smiles and continues talking, “I have to say, Carmilla. I’m really proud of all the work you’ve done to get back on the ice these past few months.”

You have to bite at the inside of your cheek for a moment to keep yourself from saying something stupid, “Thanks, Coach.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen any other athlete work so hard in order to ensure they can contribute to their team, I’m really — “

“Are you fucking kidding me?” _Seriously_ , has this man ever seen his daughter zipping around the pitch? Because you’re sure she’s done twice the amount of work you’ve done just to give herself a chance to get his attention. “Your kid’s out there scoring goals every night for the top soccer team in the country and you’re giving me this speech when you barely acknowledge that she exists?”

“Karnstein — “

“No, it’s getting old, Coach. You can say all you want about missing shots you don’t take but it clearly doesn’t mean anything to you if you’re missing chances to be with her because of —”

“Karnstein, get out of my office.”

“She’s — God, I can’t even believe I’m saying this, but she’s _so_ good and kind. And her mother already made the mistake of leaving her behind, did you have to abandon her too?”

He stands and you can see the anger stretched across his features. You’re not proud of losing control of your words like this, but a part of you hopes that if he hears how ridiculous his behaviour has been, he’ll see the light.

“If you don’t leave now, I’m benching you this game.”

You meet his eyes and you know you’ve screwed up and it maybe wasn’t your place to say anything, but it’s honestly too late, “She plays Sunday, did you know that? It’s her first home game back from that ankle injury. You should come.”

“Out.”

“Bench me if you have to.”

He doesn’t.

//

When you get to your seat on Sunday afternoon, you don’t even bother scanning the crowd for him. Instead, you focus on watching Laura.

(Just because he can’t see what he’s missing, doesn’t mean you’re about to miss a single minute of her making her opponents look like they belong on the playground.)

//

After the game, you lean against your car, waiting for Laura. She’d scored twice and the team won, so you expect she’ll be in high spirits. When you spot her walking out of the locker room, though, she doesn’t head straight for you like she’s been doing recently. Instead, she walks over to a car in another corner of the parking lot and the way she crosses her arms and shifts her weight from foot to foot tells you that she’s speaking to her father.

He’d come to see the match after all.

You watch the exchange for a few more minutes and you’re happy for her. For him, too. Maybe they’re finally finding their way back to being a family. It makes you think of how much of a mess your own family life is, but it’s easy enough to shake the feeling.

When it becomes clear that Laura probably won’t be needing a ride home, you get into your car.

You’re happy, there’s no doubt about that. But there’s a part of you that was kind of looking forward to getting to spend more time with Laura Hollis of all people and maybe you like how happy she gets when she tries to explain the game she loves. There’s something so organic about her excitement that never fails to make you smile.

Maybe you can get yourself a coffee and read a book. It’s not like she has to be there for you to enjoy a drink, right?

You’ve backed out of your parking space and you’re just about to head out when you notice someone looking at you through your window, so you roll it down.

It’s Laura. She’s got a dopey expression on her face and her eyes look brighter than you’ve ever seen them.

“Um. Were you gonna leave me behind?”

“Never.” You answer without thinking and you hope she takes it as you being over dramatic or sarcastic or _anything_. “You’re not catching a ride home with your dad, creampuff?”

She shakes her head and walks around to get into the passenger seat. You have to rub a hand over your knee to stop your palms from doing that weird tingly thing when she reaches to turn on the radio. You expect silence, but instead she starts to sing along to a song that’s titled after an area code and when you start driving you think that this might be the lightest you’ve felt in years.

 

* * *

 

You’ve long ago accepted that a person can’t really have any certainties in life other than - well, death, but despite that, you are absolutely sure of one thing.

You _hate_ calculus.

And there’s really no way around it. You’ve tried, you really have. You’re a pre-med student and Calculus is sadly a big part of your life, what between the AP classes you had to take in high school and the compulsory college courses, but that does not mean - in any way, shape or form - that you even remotely enjoy this.

In fact, the idea of being caught in the middle of a stampede — in the best Lion King style — sounds more appealing to you than the thought of opening your book and focusing on the endless amount of equations in front of you.

(You try not to dwell on the fact that you’re nowhere remotely close to a considerable amount of wild animals. Silas is a bit on the sketchy side - one can always hope.)

But, really, all you want is lay in bed and maybe watch some match you’ve already seen a billion times before, but then you remember your coach’s words and the fact that you really do need a good grade on your next exam and you decide that it’s best to just get it over with it. Besides, Carmilla has been really good at helping you - which is not a whole lot surprising when it comes to the _Calculus_ part, though the _helping_ bit is still a little hard for you to wrap your mind around.

And then you think of the past few months and everything that’s happened and maybe, it shouldn’t be. Because helping you is all that Carmilla has done and you can’t even imagine that you’ve done a single thing for her in return, really.

Which is a whole other issue on its own, and one you can’t really focus right now because you have an insane amount of letters and freaking numbers waiting to be deciphered in front of you and all you want to do is go back in time and kill the person who ever thought it’d be a good idea to ruin your life like this.

Completely unnecessary, really.

(You'd probably need Calculus to be able go back in time knowing your luck.)

“What are you doing?” Carmilla voice reaches your ears, and you take a second to finish reading your problem before you look up at her.

You furrow your brows, “I don’t wanna get any of the numbers confused.”

The way Carmilla smiles at you makes you wonder why you’d ever thought her being nice was a bad thing. You can’t deny that she’s absolutely gorgeous - no one can - but when she smiles, especially when she smiles at you, it just seems as if everything else around you disappears and there’s only Carmilla and her perfect white teeth and flawless dark hair.

It’s unfair that she gets to be so talented and so gorgeous at the same time, so you only huff at her smile and you try not to get angry at the way it completely backfires.

 _Ugh_ , why did you ever think it’d be a good idea to be friends with Carmilla Karnstein?

“What?” you ask, picking up the crumbs left from your eraser and throwing at her. Maybe if she’s not smiling at you like that you’ll be able to focus on your problems again. “I don’t want to start off wrong.”

Your gaze is almost back on your books when Carmilla’s voice reaches your ears again and you don’t want to let her words get to you as much as they do — because, logically, you know she’s joking, but before you can even realize what’s happening all your insecurities are rushing to the front of your mind and well — it’s not like Carmilla should even be talking about you, right? Not when she’s riding her high horse and acting all high and mighty, as if she hasn’t made a single mistake in her life.

What a fucking joke.

Carmilla is still talking but you can’t even bring yourself to focus on her words as you pack your things, you just glare at her. And the unbelievable things is that she glares at you right back, as if she hadn’t just delivered that low of a blow to your gut.

They do say the higher you go, the farther you fall.

(As you walk out the door, you try not to think of how yet another _failure_ this feels.)

(What difference does it make, anyway? Carmilla would leave eventually, you might as well leave first.)

//

Except that, apparently, the only place Carmilla is willing to go is _after_ _you_.

Your phone has been ringing non-stop with notifications since you left Starbucks and you've read Carmilla's messages, but you’re too lost in your mind to even bother to reply to them or shut off your phone. You know, deep down, that Carmilla didn’t mean to insult you. As default, she isn’t a nice person. But over the past few months, you’ve come to realize that this doesn’t necessarily mean she isn’t _good_.

You hate to admit this, but other than LaFontaine and Perry, Carmilla is the best friend you’ve ever had. And you’re thankful for your childhood friends, you really are, but they’re not nearly as good at putting up with your bullshit as Carmilla is.

So, really. Her words might’ve been uncalled for, but you didn’t have to blow up at her the way you did.

It’s just — _God._ She is a hypocrite. Whether it was meant as a joke or not, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s judging you for being too scared to take a leap when you’ve watched her second-guess every single step she’s taken since her accident.

You wish you only meant that figuratively.

Everything is such a mess in your brain that you don't even realize Carmilla has actually followed you until her voice rings out next to you - loud and clear and _angry_ , even from all the way on the opposite lane.

It's a surprise, you can't even deny that. You thought she'd just give up after your phone stopped buzzing with her texts and that would be the end of it. Carmilla, apparently, is still intent on surprising you.

"I'm serious, Laura." She says, and you think your eyes must be wide from everything that's going on. There are at least five cars with angry-looking drivers behind her, but Carmilla doesn't seem to be minding that at all. Her only focus is you. "Get. In. The. Car."

You take one last look at the line of cars honking behind her and you rush across the road, hoping that it won't make things worse when Carmilla stops altogether to let you in.

"It's a school zone, people!"

The way Carmilla's laugh rings out in your ears is so contagious that you have to bite your lip to keep from smiling at her. You could just accept that it was a joke and be done with it, but you probably wouldn't be you if you weren't stubborn about the things you shouldn't be, so you cross your arms instead and you glare at her again.

You don't really want to have an argument with Carmilla, but you actually do need to let this out. Maybe this is your way of actually helping her, even if it means she'll never talk to you again.

The way she goes quiet and her shoulders tense makes you think she might kick you out of the car. It makes you think of that one time she snapped at you in the school parking lot. It feels like another lifetime, really. You know _that_ Carmilla meant to hurt you, but this one has proved time and time again that that's the last thing she wants.

At least, that's what you try to tell yourself when she brings up your mother again. You try to convince your mind that this is just Carmilla lashing out. That she doesn't mean it. That she was telling the truth when she said that she doesn't pity you.

You keep repeating these words to yourself during the rest of the ride to your house. Carmilla's knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel and you just want to go back to that moment earlier in Starbucks with her ridiculous smile, but you know it's too late now.

You had to go and put your foot in your mouth again.

But still, you refuse to take the blame for this alone, so when she finally stops in front of your house, you gather your things and you slip out of the car, doing your best not to let her notice the confusion in your brain as you mutter an empty, "Thank you."

Jesus, how did two messed up people like you and Carmilla ever think you'd manage to actually get along?

//

It takes three hours after your head has hit the pillow for you to fall asleep that night.

You wonder why it still feels as if you're losing a part of yourself if Carmilla had never actually had any of you to begin with.

//

You've decided that you're not gonna let this get to you. If Carmilla wants to leave, that's fine. If she can't take a sip of her own medicine then it's not your fault in the first place. Yeah, maybe you should've thought of your words before you actually let them out of your mouth, but since when have you actually been able to do that?

But then, when you leave your house and you round the corner and Carmilla is there, you can't help yourself, the apologies just come tumbling off your mouth.

And it's only as they do, that you realize this actually hasn't been about Carmilla at all. Yeah, sure, she's playing safe, you both know this. But this was about the fact that you still can't get a hold of your insecurities. You still can't believe in yourself, no matter how far you've come and how much you've accomplished.

All your life has been about doing your best so that you could get at least a nod of recognition from your father and Carmilla doesn't care about two shits and you just - you can't _understand_ her.

But you do understand that it isn't fair of you to drop all your problems on Carmilla and expect her to hold their weight.

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have brought up your mother."

It all feels like a distant memory, if you're being honest with yourself. And you realize now, that Carmilla mentioning your mother didn't actually hurt as much as you think it did. If you hadn't been so caught up in your anger, you'd have noticed that it felt as if she was just stating a fact. Your mother left.

And she _did_. Maybe it was past time you accepted that.

So, when you tell her that you deserved her words, you ignore the way Carmilla's small smile is screaming her disagreement with you.

You came to the conclusion that you need help. Maybe it's time you started acting on that.

//

The university's counselor is not your ideal concept of help, but you figure you need to actually start somewhere, so that's what you do.

You've spent the last couple of days twisting the idea in your mind and it took you over six hours to actually muster up the courage to schedule an appointment, but now that you're standing in a small waiting room with the clock ticking in front of you, you're not actually sure that you can do this.

Maybe you could just leave. Maybe you could do this by yourself. You've accepted that you need help, that's a big step already, isn't it? And you've come to this conclusion all by yourself, so why can't you take the other steps alone as well?

But then your mind reminds you of Carmilla. And Perry. And LaFontaine. The box that is currently sitting on your desk, so figuratively full that you've started calling it your own Pandora's box and each time you open it you're afraid all your demons are going to come rushing out and take control of you again.

You can't do this alone, but you realize that this step has to be your own. Your friends will be there, because that's how amazing they are, but you need to start getting better for yourself.

And if talking to the school counselor means that there's at least a small chance of that happening, then so be it.

When the door opens and a surprisingly young woman with black-rimmed glasses and red hair calls out, "Laura Hollis," you take a deep breath and you nod to yourself.

You're strong enough to do this.

You're strong enough to actually allow yourself to be happy.

//

When you run out on the field on Sunday, you don't waste a second before you find Carmilla in the stands. She's sitting in the same seat she used to sit when she came to the games with Kirsch, but ever since his breakup with SJ, you haven't seen him around.

He'd explained to you during one of Carmilla's games that soccer doesn't actually make much sense to him but he liked to be supportive of his girlfriend, so you kind of get why he's not coming anymore. You know that Carmilla doesn't like the game either, so you can't help but wonder why she keeps showing up match after match.

Maybe she's got her eyes set on one of your teammates. Maybe Elsie. It seems like that'd be Carmilla's type.

(You don't get why, though. Elsie isn't even that interesting.)

You don't let yourself dwell on that though. You've been in good spirits since your meeting with the counselor and you're actually excited that you get to spend your Sunday doing something you love and sharing that with your closest friends.

"You seem to be in a good mood," LaFontaine tells you as you wait for the referee to blow the whistle.

A grin stretches on your lips, "It's Sunday and we're about to kick some ass. I'd say my mood is fitting."

They return your grin just as the game starts, "Go get them, Cap!"

//

It's only in the end of the second half that you actually see him.

You're glad you don't have the ball with you at the moment because you're sure you'd stumble on it, lose your feet and fall to the ground headfirst if you did.

You cover your eyes and you have to blink twice to make sure it's actually your father standing on the sidelines and having a conversation with your coach as he watches _your_ match.

As in, a match you're playing in.

Which he has never attended before in his life.

The whistle blows signaling the end of the game and your teammates jump all over you to congratulate you for the two goals you scored and it's all muscle memory as you follow them to the locker room because, your _dad_.

He'd been weird all week — more than usual for him — and you did your best to stay out of his way because you were sick and tired of feeling like shit in his presence, but you didn't realize that his long glances and heavy sighs were leading up to _this_.

He was actually there.

You leave the locker room and you're on your way to Carmilla's car when you notice that he's still idling in the parking lot, so you grip tightly on the strap of your bag and you go to him.

"Hey, Dad." You greet as you cross your arms against your chest. You wish things hadn't gotten to the point where you don't even know how to talk to him anymore.

"Hey, kiddo." He gives you a smile and it sends your heart beating fast when you realize that it's the warmest he's ever looked at you in the past three years. "Great game out there."

You're sure you're dreaming.

"Uh, thanks."

It's quiet while both of you stare at each other and it's as if you can see all the time you've lost passing by your eyes, but you can't bring yourself to actually make small talk with him.

"Do you need a ride home?" He asks after a few minutes.

You shake your head quickly and you glance at the spot in the parking lot where Carmilla is backing out. "No, that's okay, Dad. Carmilla is waiting for me. I'll see you at home?"

His expression shifts at the mention of Carmilla, but you don't pay much attention to it because you're already moving to her car.

"Sure," he nods and then calls out, "Have fun, kiddo."

You walk backwards and you watch him as he waves at you as he pulls away and you try to get a hold of your heartbeats, but you just can't. He was there. He actually came to one of your games. He saw you play. He saw you _win_.

You didn't know this day would turn out like this when you got out of bed.

You’re probably still smiling like an idiot when you finally manage to make your way through the maze of cars to where Carmilla looks like she’s just about to drive away. She doesn’t move for a few seconds and you clear your throat when she notices you standing beside her car and  watching her through the window like some sort of creep, "Um. Were you gonna leave me behind?"

"Never." She answers, and you didn't think it was possible for your heart to beat any faster, but it somehow does in that moment. "You're not catching a ride home with your dad, creampuff?"

You don't bother answering, instead you only shake your head and you get in the car. She does that thing where she rubs her hand against her knee and you have the urge to ask _why_ , but you don't want to ruin this moment.

Instead, you reach for the radio and when '505' comes on, you actually do open your mouth and you let the words out.

You think of your friends and your father and your talk with the counselor and the calculus test that's sitting in your bag with a passing mark on it that you can't wait to show to Carmilla and you think that maybe, just _maybe_ , things might actually turn out okay for you.

It's a scary thought, but maybe not the scariest that you've ever had in your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find both of us on Tumblr!


	9. April - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka maybe they're friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Please accept a 9k word apology.

You’re sitting with Carmilla at Starbucks one day and she’s going on and on about things like _power plays_ and _penalty boxes_ \- and you're actually paying attention to it - so it takes you a moment to realize that this is different from all the other times you've been to this coffee place since the beginning of your acquaintanceship with her.

There's no open books strewn in front of you. No endless amounts of math equations that you can't seem to wrap your head around. No Carmilla leaning over the table to point out something that's obvious to her but that you somehow managed to miss it completely in the ten times you've read the problem.

Yes, there's a cookie sitting between the two of you and you've been sipping on your regular drink for the last twenty minutes but - this is not a _study session._

This is you, actually hanging out with Carmilla Karnstein.

"So after two minutes the penalty is over and you get to go back to the game," Carmilla finishes, leaning back against her seat and taking a sip of her coffee.

You nod, a smirk stretching in your lips, "So that's why you're always sitting out?"

" _Please,_ " she rolls her eyes. "Those assholes ask for it. It's not my fault they always get in my way."

That's a new thing too. Well, not new, per se. You've always been a pro at getting under Carmilla's skin, but now it's more like teasing and you find that it's fun to get her all riled up when it doesn't mean she's gonna try to shove you into the mud later.

It's like when you call Laf Dr. Frankenstein or you tell Perry she's too young to be a mom. They don't care, because they know it's all in good fun.

You never thought you'd have that kind of relationship with Carmilla, yet here you are.

(And you're kinda glad for it too, even if you can't really admit it out loud.)

"Can't you get kicked out for that?" You ask, because you've always been convinced that hockey is a sport played by _animals_ , but you can't actually believe they don't have _any_ rules.

She shrugs, "Well, yeah. But only after, like, five penalties or so." You watch as she takes a piece of cookie and pops into her mouth, smiling smugly at you. "Don't worry, Creampuff. I won't make you suffer through a game I'm not playing."

You kinda hate that she's that much of an asshole, but you can't help but admit that it's sort of endearing.

(Kind of. Not a whole lot. 90% asshole, 10% cute.)

"I'm glad," you tell her, and when you pick the last piece of cookie and flick it at her mouth, you're annoyed at how easily Carmilla manages to catch it. You roll your eyes at her. "It's already bad enough that I have to be there when you're playing, I can't imagine how boring it would be if you weren't there to shove people against the boards."

Carmilla grins at you, "Why, Cupcake, I didn't realize you liked watching me that much."

You roll your eyes again, and this time you flick the piece of cookie directly into her forehead.

"Shut up, asshole."

//

You haven’t told your counsellor about Carmilla yet and you have to admit that it’s because you’ve been afraid. It seems that lately she’s everywhere in your life and you can’t recall a time in the last few months when it hasn’t been like that and - well, this _freaks you out._

Because people leave. That’s what they do. And Carmilla has given absolutely no indication that she’s going follow that example but, well - your mother hadn’t either and you woke up one day to find all of her things gone without so much as a goodbye note.

And she was your _mother._ Why would Carmilla stick around when someone who carried you around inside them for nine months didn’t bother to do that?

So, you rationalized that if you didn’t say anything, it would be one less problem to deal with once the time came for Carmila to find something more interesting to do with her life.

Except that, when Catherine asks you about your friends, your brain suddenly becomes a jumbled mess and you almost start to hyperventilate in the small office.

“Laura,” she lowers her glasses and looks at you in that way that you’ve come to recognize as her no-bullshit face. “I think it’s time I refer you to someone else.”

At first, you’re confused, “What, why?”

Catherine leans over her desk, resting her chin on top of her interlaced fingers, “Because I’m only a college counselor and, though my door will always be open to you, I have a feeling that you need to work a few things that are out of my depth. Your grades are improving and I can see that you’re a lot better than you were when you first came into my office, but I think you’ll agree with me when I say that your recovery is far from done.”

You look down at your thighs and you nod your head but you can’t bring yourself to meet her eyes. There are still thoughts swimming in your brain about your mother and Carmilla and your father and _friendship_ and it’s all just too much for you right now.

“Dr. Nolan is a great professional,” she tells you, scribbling something in a piece of paper. “If you find that you can talk to her as you’ve managed to talk to me, I have absolutely no doubt that you’ll reach very satisfying results together.”

She slips the paper towards you and you focus on the information written on it for a whole minute before you manage to meet Catherine’s gaze again.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” You tell her. It had been hard enough to walk through her door, but now she’s talking about professional help and - though you realize that you _do_ need it - you don’t think you’re brave enough to actually go and get it.

Catherine walks around the desk and takes a sit next to you and you’re momentarily glad that she doesn’t reach for your hand or tries to invade your space in any way in a poor attempt at connecting with you.

“I know there’s a lot you haven’t told me,” she says and you focus on the window past her chair instead of her deep blue eyes. “But I also know that, despite everything you’ve been through, you’re a brave girl who’s just trying to do her best. And I’m here to tell you, that your best _is_ enough. But I also know that you need help to accept that. Unfortunately, that’s not something I’m equipped to provide. But Dr. Nolan is. So what do you say you just take a shot, huh? Isn’t that what soccer is all about? Making the most of your opportunities?”

You kinda hate that she manages to use that logic against you. Because that is what soccer is about. If the net is open, you shoot for it. There’s only one goal - quite literally - and you’ve always done everything in your power to get to it.

Why _should_ this be any different, really?

When you finally meet her gaze, Catherine is smiling at you and you can’t help but to mirror her expression.

You try to find something to say, anything to express your gratitude for everything she’s done for you in the past month, all that she’s helped you realize. And you could string along a bunch of different words to do that, but in the end, it comes down to two small words that mean more than you could possibly explain:

“Thank you.”

//

**Carmilla [6:30 pm]**

Did you know that a US dollar can be made in small change in 293 ways?

**Laura [6:35 pm]**

… what

**Carmilla [6:37 pm]**

And that the opposite sides of a dice always add up to seven?

**Laura [6:38 pm]**

new phone, who dis?

**Carmilla [6:40 pm]**

Laura.

**Laura [6:42 pm]**

wait, you’re laura too?

**Carmilla [6:45 pm]**

Whatever, bye.

**Laura [6:47 pm]**

wait, i’m kidding! you can send me more trivia, weirdo.

**Laura [7:00 pm]**

carmilla?

**Laura [7:20 pm]**

carm??????

**Laura [7:30 pm]**

ugh, i hate you

//

When Carmilla rounds the corner to your house the next morning, you choose to greet her with a, “Did you know that a chess board has 204 squares?”

(No, you did not spend an hour before bed looking up math-related trivia. That would be stupid. And if you now know a trick to remember the eight first digits of PI by counting the number of letters in the words of a particular sentence, well, that’s just a coincidence,  really, nothing more.)

Carmilla raises an eyebrow at you as she takes her water bottle from your hand, “I _did_ know that, actually. I’m surprised that you do, though.”

You shrug, doing your best to play it cool, “Oh, yeah, someone mentioned it once. I guess it stuck. I figured you’d be interested to know, since apparently you’re a bigger math nerd than I thought.”

“I was just educating you, sundance. Since math is clearly not your thing and all.”

She’s started picking up her pace and you ignore the way her lips are stretched in a teasing grin as you do the same. You like this new layer to your friendship with Carmilla - and it _is_ a friendship, you’re done fighting that. When you first started running with her you kept thinking through your words over and over - first when you were trying your best to hurt her and then when you were trying to do the exact opposite of that.

It’s been a tough few months, but you finally feel like you’re in a good place.

“I don’t know why math would be _anyone’s_ thing,” you tell her as you round the block and Carmilla picks up the pace again.

You waste no time in matching it.

Carmilla throws you a glare, “Math is beautiful. And it’s in literally everything. This world wouldn’t exist without math. _You_ wouldn’t exist. Why shouldn’t we try our best to understand the very thing that makes us who we are?”

You move to the side to avoid a small bump in the sidewalk and when you come back, you can see that Carmilla’s neck is growing flustered and her breathing is labored but she doesn’t seem to be having any problems keeping up the pace she’s set and it doesn’t look like her knee is gonna give out under her weight, which makes you weirdly proud, in a way.

She still hasn’t mastered enough courage to run your old route - the one that goes up the hill and around the block - but you can’t deny that she’s come a long way. And you’ve been there all along, watching every small and insecure step turn into the _thud, thud, thud_ that you can hear against the asphalt right now.

It’s only when you turn another corner and Carmilla playfully shoves into you that you realize you didn’t even bother to take your earbuds with you today. You’ve run over five kilometres and Carmilla’s voice has been the only thing in your ears the entire way.

You can’t say it’s the worst run you’ve ever had.

(It might be one of the best, actually.)

//

LaFontaine shows up at your house one weekend, Perry in tow, and you somehow find yourself ambushed into an afternoon of movies and junk food with them.

It's weird at first; you can't remember the last time the three of you did something like this, which is kinda sad because most of your weekends during high school were in spent in much the same fashion, the only difference being that Perry and Laf hadn't gotten their shit together yet.

You realize that you owe them an apology.

They've been your friends through thick and thin and you've done a poor job of appreciating them. Things have been better since you've accepted that you need to get your shit together, but that doesn't mean that you can just expect everything to be the way it was unless you make an effort for it too. Apologizing is the least you can do.

Still, it takes over two hours and another terrible Step Up sequel (LaFontaine got their hands on the controller before you could do anything about it and, well, the flash mobs _were_ pretty awesome, you couldn’t deny that) before you manage to figure out what you want - no, what you _need_ \- to say to them.

The movie ends and you try to ignore the song from the last scene that keeps playing in your head, which is the last thing you need right now.

“Hey,” you say, when LaFontaine reaches for a can of diet coke.

They sigh, “We’ve talked about this, L. It’s _diet_ coke. I’m willing to make concessions during the season but I’m not giving up my pop completely.”

You shake your head quickly; you remember quite clearly the speech they gave you about it on your senior year of high school and you’re not keen on having a repeat session of that. You’d think LaFontaine, the goddamn _bio major_ , would know that soft drinks are full of sugar and a bunch of other artificial things, but you’ve long ago accepted that that is not a battle you’re likely to ever win, so you don’t even bother to try anymore.

And really, you can’t deny that you indulge in a fair amount of grape soda ever-so-often, so it’d be hypocritical of you to call them out on that.

“It’s not that,” you reassure them. You meet Perry’s gaze and she gives you a small smile, as if she knows what you’re about to do and that you can use the reassurance. It makes you feel both better and worse; that she still knows you like that when you’ve been nothing but horrible to both of them for so long.

You pat the space next you, “Come here.”

They squeeze between you and Perry, diet coke forgotten for the moment. Perry wraps an arm around them and looks at you, “What is it, sweetie?”

“Well,” you wriggle your hands together, letting out a heavy sigh before you finally manage to let the words out. “I wanted to apologize.”

LaFontaine pushes a hand out before you can say anything else, “Okay, no. Seriously. Let’s not go there.”

Perry pulls them back, and when they throw her a confused look she just shakes her head. “Laura needs to do this.”

“But we don’t _need_ her apologies.”

“I know that,” Perry sighs. And then she looks at you again, and you feel your breath get caught in your throat with the sheer understanding that you can see in her eyes. “But this isn’t about us.” She pulls them back, “So shut up and let her finish what she has to say so that we can start another one of your awful movie choices.”

LaFontaine puts a hand over their heart, “And you still claim to love me.”

Perry rolls her eyes, “I do. Bad movie choices and all.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips as you watch them. There’s a nagging voice in the back of your head that you refuse to acknowledge right now, screaming how much you wish you had someone in your life like Perry and LaFontaine have each other. You know you’re their friend, but it’s something different. And you’d deny this if anyone asks, but you _want_ that something different.

(You doubt you’ll ever get it, though.)

“Laura, sweetie?” Perry interrupts your thoughts and you nod to yourself before you continue your speech.

“I know that you don’t need to hear this,” LaFontaine nods and Perry smacks their arm. “But I need to acknowledge that I’ve been awful to the two of you for the last few years and I really am sorry. You two are my oldest friends and you’ve always been there for me and I- well, I took that for granted. But I’m really working on getting my shit together now and if you two can find it in yourselves to forgive me for all the shit I’ve done, I promise I’ll do my best to be a better friend. Like I was before.”

You look up from your hands to meet their gaze and suddenly you find yourself trapped in a double embrace, LaFontaine’s arms wrapped around you and Perry’s arms closing in on the two of you.

The tears fill your eyes and you’re trying your best to keep them at bay when Perry lets out a _That was ridiculously corny,_ _Laura_ and you just lose it.

It’s hard to imagine where you’d be without them.

(It’s a good thing you don’t have to find out.)

//

With the end of the school year fast approaching, you only have one thing in your mind: the Silas Annual Roadtrip, which is just a bullshit title for the roadtrip the hockey and soccer team take together to what is likely considered to be the most important game of the season for both sports.

The rivalry with the Falcons is old. And when you say old, you mean _old._

The games are always scheduled on the same weekend and it’s a huge deal. Both the soccer team and the hockey team take the same bus, but the entire school gets on the road for it and it’s as big a showing of school spirit as anything you’ve ever seen in your life.

Silas won both games last year. You can only hope to achieve the same results again.

(You don’t want to think of what a blow it would be to your recovery if you lost a game like that. Carmilla has been trying to take your mind off it for the past week and she hasn’t succeeded a single bit but you can’t help but being glad for the support system that you have.)

“You’re sure you’ve got everything you need?” Carmilla asks you once she pulls into the school parking lot, the rendezvous point for both teams.

That’s a tough question. It’s early and you’re half asleep but you _think_ that your bag is all packed with your needs for the weekend.

So you tell Carmilla that.

She looks at you for a moment, but seems to realize that if you _did_ forget something it's too late to go back and get it, so she gets out of the car and moves to take out your things.

Once she takes your duffel bag, she rolls her eyes, "That answers my question."

You're not sure what she means by that but you don't read too much into it. Instead, you move towards the bus, where your Dad has a clipboard in his hands and is checking out names as the students climb aboard.

He had left home earlier to attend some kind of meeting the staff had to sort out some last minute details and you'd refused his ride in favor of some extra minutes to sleep, though you're not sure it made a whole lot of difference in the end.

Not even the caramel macchiato that Carmilla got you seems to have been of any help this morning.

"Hey, Dad." You greet him and you watch as his eyes fleet between you and Carmilla and seems to narrow as he watches her.

"Hey, kiddo," he says, checking both of your names off the list, or so you assume. "Karnstein."

Carmilla nods at him and you're positive that you're not imagining the tension between them. Though things are getting better now, it looks an awful lot like the interactions you've had with your father for the past three years and you have a hard time wrapping your mind around it because Carmilla has always been the apple of his eye.

This doesn't make any sense.

He turns to you again, "Did you get everything you need?"

"Yeah," you nod, pointing to the bag that Carmilla is still holding. "Pretty sure I did."

He nods to himself and casts Carmilla another furtive glance before pulling you into a hug.

It's awkward at first, but you can't deny that you've missed those.

"Good girl. Now get inside, we gotta get on the road." He clears his throat. "You too, Karnstein. Come on."

It seems that Carmilla doesn't need to be told twice because she walks between the two of you and into the bus without a word. When you walk in you find that she has already stacked your bags and is sitting all the way over at the back, which doesn't really surprise you.

"Must you be such an antisocial person?"

She raises an eyebrow at you, "Must you be such a social butterfly, _Mrs. 5000-Instagram-Followers?_ "

You can't help but roll your eyes, "I'll let you know, it's actually five thousand and eight hundred."

"No!" She gasps. "Do forgive me."

You point to the window seat and Carmilla begrudgingly allows you to take it. "Now we're even."

She huffs like a petulant child and crosses her arms as she slides down and stretches her legs. "You're lucky you're cute."

"Why, Carm," you smirk. "I can't believe you just paid me a compliment."

She turns her face to you with an unimpressed look and you can't help the giggle that escapes your lips, which just makes her scowl even more.

"I can't believe I'm spending five hours on a bus with you."

"Think of it this way," you slide down, settling next to her. "We can learn a lot about each other in this time. You can actually convince me you're more than just an annoying asshole."

She seems to contemplate this for a moment, "True." She nods. And then she grins at you, "Question is: can _you_?"

You huff as you push your shoulder against hers and you try to ignore the contagious way that her laughter just bubbles out of her lips, but you fail terribly because when the other players get on the bus the two of you are still letting out random bursts of laughter and you're pretty sure that LaFontaine is convinced that you're crazy.

(You're also sure that Carmilla's friends are sending you weird looks, but you don't care too much about that.)

You think of everything you've been through in the last few years and you still can't believe that it all added up to a point in your life where your _friends_ with Carmilla Karnstein.

Fate really does work in weird ways.

//

You win the game.

It's not really a surprise but you can't deny that it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

It tastes sweet, even more so because of the fact that you scored the only goal of the match. The Falcons are a worthy adversary and you acknowledge that you'd probably have lost if you'd still been trying to carry the entire team, so you can't help but being glad that you didn't have to do that.

Yes, you scored, but you couldn't have done this by yourself. You realize that now.

And, as your friends jump over you at the end of the game and you meet Carmilla's gaze in the sea of burgundy in the stands and your Dad next to your coach on the sidelines, you don't bother fighting the grin that stretches on your lips.

You've had a lot of winnings in your life but you don't think they've ever felt quite as amazing as this one.

//

There's a party to celebrate the weekend.

The hockey team has just won their game and Carmilla scored not one, not two, but _three_ goals and you think you're still a bit deaf from how loud the arena got after the final buzzer sounded.

Someone managed to get the hotel you're staying to allow you to use the pool overnight and you're pretty sure that this was a poor choice of their administration but you can't really bring yourself to care.

You all deserve to celebrate.

There's a knock on the door of the room you're sharing with SJ and you're still pulling your shirt over your bikini top so you let her take that while you finish getting ready.

You have no plans of getting in the pool but you find it hard to believe that you'll manage to escape that.

"Laura, it's Karnstein!" she calls out. "I'm gonna go now, see you two downstairs!"

You finish fixing your shirt just as SJ walks out and you don't really know what comes over you but before you can think twice about it you find yourself flinging your body against Carmilla's and pulling her in a hug.

"Woah, there, tiger." She stumbles back a little but then deft hands are wrapping around your waist and she's spinning the both of you around before settling you down again.

"You were amazing tonight."

It seems that Carmilla isn't expecting the compliment either because her cheeks colors a faint pink and you realize that this might be the first time you've actually complimented her in a such a direct way.

You like the way it seems to take a hit at her bravado so you make a note to do it more often.

"You weren't so bad yourself yesterday, Hollis." She says and it's only when she takes a step back that you realize her arms have been around you this entire time. "I say we deserve some celebration tonight."

You nod, taking a small bow, "We do. So lead the way, Ms. Karnstein."

Carmilla rolls her eyes at you, "You're such a dork." But when she turns around and opens the door she does the same thing and you throw her a smirk behind your shoulder because if you're a dork than she's no much better herself.

//

The music is loud when you get to the pool and you can see that most of the girls are already on their way to being quite tipsy. You don't know how they managed to get rid of all the chaperones and bring that much liquor into the hotel but you have a feeling that your dad and the other staffers are turning a blind eye to whatever is going on here tonight.

Carmilla moves away from your for a second and when she comes back she's holding two red solo cups, one of which she hands to you.

"Orange Juice for the lady."

You look at the contents of your cup and you take a small sip of it before you look up at her, "What did you get?"

"Grape soda." She informs you.

You raise an eyebrow, "And?"

Carmilla frowns at you for a moment before she shrugs, "That's all."

That's weird. Carmilla, at a party, and no alcohol? You don't think you've ever witnessed that.

"No alcohol? I thought you were celebrating."

She takes a sip of her drink and gives you another shrug. "I'm good. I can celebrate without getting drunk."

That's news for you but you don't make a fuss about it. Apparently Carmilla doesn't need her liquid courage tonight.

You let your eyes roam and you wave at LaFontaine and Perry when you find them on the other side of the pool, playing some game of ball with a few of your teammates.

Carmilla spends a few minutes talking to the goalie of her team - Lawrence, you recall - but she sticks by your side for most of the night, getting you refills of OJ and making fun of the way her teammates are getting drunker and drunker as the night goes by.

You think of how different this party is. Every time you've been to a college gathering you've left with a girl wrapped around your arms - with the exception being that time when you had to take a drunk Carmilla home - and yet you find that you don't really want to do that now.

And it would be so damn easy for you to find a girl to fuck somewhere. Half of the hockey team has been sending you looks all night and some of the girls you didn't even know have come to congratulate you for the game you played yesterday.

Girls in bikinis, water dripping from their curves and yet you'd rather be teased by some asshole that somehow seems to have grown on you over the last months.

Who would've thought.

"Earth to Hollis," Carmilla calls out, waving a hand in front of your eyes and you realize that you've spaced out for a moment. "Where did you go? Got stuck in a daydream over sexy ladies in bikinis?"

You shake your head and meet her gaze, "Please," you chuckle. "Why do I need to daydream about that when that's literally what's going on right now?"

She lets her eyes do a quick sweep of the room and then nods to herself, "You have a point."

(You feel a stab in your gut and you ignore the way it feels.)

"I'm gonna get us another refill."

Carmilla nods as you get up and you miss the way her eyes glint with something evil as you walk by the pool towards the table where all the refreshments are stacked.

It's a terrible choice not to glance back at her because, out of nowhere, you feel something colliding with the side of your body and then there's water all around you and you're all wet.

When you come up for air you find Carmilla laughing next to you and LaFontaine clapping from all the way over the next side of the pool.

"You go, Karnstein!" They yell, hands cupped around their mouth to make the sound carry.

You flip them off and they laugh harder and you waste no time jumping over Carmilla and trying to dunk her.

"You're such an asshole!"

It's a wasted effort because Carmilla is taller and stronger than you and soon you find yourself submerged in the water again. Your shirt is clinging to your body so you take that off and flick it against Carmilla's face in yet another poor effort of getting back at her.

She pulls back the piece of clothing and throws it out of the pool, an annoying grin on her lips, "We're celebrating, cupcake."

"I hate you." You tell her.

Carmilla only shrugs, "So you keep saying. But I don't really believe you."

You can't say you blame her.

You don't really believe it yourself, either.

 

* * *

 

One night when you’re thinking about Laura - you’ve spent quite a lot of time thinking about Laura lately and that should probably bother you, but that’s what friends do, right? Think about each other? You think about Kirsch all the time. And yes, you don’t think about how adorable he is or how soft _his_ hair would feel between your fingers, but Kirsch isn’t adorable and his hair doesn’t look soft at all. Laura’s hair, however, does. So it’s only logical your mind would go there just like how seeing Ed Sheeran or people on the street with red hair makes you think of Danny.

Anyways, one night when you’re thinking about Laura, you get this odd pang in your chest that feels kind of like you miss her, which is ridiculous in itself because you literally saw her less than two hours previously and also you have never missed - or thought you would ever miss - Laura Hollis in your life.

After a few more minutes though, it becomes painfully clear that this isn't going to go away.

“Fuck’s sake.” You catch yourself mumbling under your breath as you scramble out of the nest of blankets that you’d unknowingly built around where you were sitting on the bed, cuddling your Chinese take-out box that you’re eating out of. Your phone’s sitting on the coffee table in the living room and you groan all the way the goddamn table, but it doesn’t change the fact that you miss Laura or that you’re going to attempt to communicate with her because you _miss her._

You find yourself sitting down in the spot your phone had previously occupied, thumbing through your contact list until you come across _Haura Lollis_ and it makes you crack up.

_Jesus Christ,_ what is wrong with you?

Another thing, you have no clue how to even talk to Laura over text. In person, you might insult her or make a snarky comment about how she looks extra annoying at present time, but you don’t want to risk your words being misinterpreted.

(You don’t know when you started caring about being _misinterpreted,_ but you do and it’s horrible.)

You settle for sending her a math fact because even Kirsch finds them interesting and also you’re very much out of your depth right now and Laura calling you a nerd or something equally as ineffective when it comes to insults is a welcome, predictable, response.

After a couple of exchanged texts, you feel much better and able to continue living your life without anyone’s company except for your trusty chopsticks and your _Peaceful Restaurant_ take-out box, so you turn off your phone.

Thinking about Laura again can wait for tomorrow.

//

So maybe, _maybe,_ you have Laura-infested dreams.

And maybe they’re driving you completely up the wall.

They’re not sex dreams, no, those would be easier to deal with because you’re not attracted to her _at all._ Instead, whatever higher power out there has clearly decided they hate you and are now cursing your existence with mundane dreams that replicate your everyday routine down to every last detail. Except now, Laura is _everywhere_ you look.

The first time you notice her presence, she’s nodding along to what your professor is saying about Kant, then she’s watching you practice, then she’s eating _Mu-Shu stir-fry buckwheat noodles_ with you at your apartment and god, they’re the best dreams you’ve ever had.

It’s completely ridiculous and by the seventh dream, the two of you are watching infomercials, you’re so completely done with the whole situation that you go on the Internet and scroll through forums dedicated to the things that factor into what people dream about at night - you end up taking the advice of someone called iluvboobs69 from a place called Climax in Saskatchewan - and you wash your sheets, pillowcases, and your blankets in an attempt to wash _her_ out.

The whole thing is like a fucked up lucid dream that you can’t escape. _Seriously._

It kind of works though, she only shows up every other night after that, but you have to change your sheets every morning from then on. It’s only another week later that you realize the dreams are probably being caused by the fact that you come home almost everyday smelling like her.

(Your hydro bill rises with each extra shower, but then again, you can’t really put a price tag on sanity.)

//

Your life is much better on the ice rather than off of it. You’re slowly finding your timing again, and with help from some teammates, you’ve even halfway managed to get past the mental block which kept you from attacking the opposing team’s net that Laura had unkindly pointed out to you the month before. Things on the ice are getting better every day, your team isn’t going to make the playoffs, but you’re still winning games and scoring goals. Of course, Coach Hollis hasn’t directly spoken to you in almost a month, but you take comfort in the fact that at least he’s now speaking to his daughter.

Off the ice is a little more complicated. Finals are coming up and the only time you seem to have for relaxation are during your early morning runs with your bite-sized _friend_ which, considering that that’s when your blood pressure is probably the highest, says a lot. You split your time writing papers and doing assignments. Kirsch comes barging into your apartment several times to shove snacks into your arms and you lose track of time in between the points you have to mark on your graph paper and the opening and closing sentences of your term papers.

Things are so hectic that one morning, you almost keel over halfway through your run because your head has started spinning and your limbs feel like they’ve given up on you. At first, you think the concussion has come roaring back with a vengeance, but it doesn’t feel the same as those headaches. This doesn’t even seem like a headache, more like you’re just dizzy for no apparent reason.

“Carmilla.” Laura says your name like she’s worrying each syllable with her tongue. You look over at her from where you’ve managed to lean yourself against one of the trees that line the sidewalk and she continues. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it the concussion - “

“No, it feels different from that.” You take a sip of water in between sentences. “I’m dizzy.”

“Well,” You don’t need to be looking at her to know that she’s got that impatient look on her face that means she’s about two seconds away from starting to tap her foot against the pavement. “what did you eat this morning?”

You wrack your brain for an answer, but the only memory from this morning that comes to mind is you waking up at your desk, graphite smudged all over your cheeks. Your lack of response seems to be enough for Laura, though.

She huffs and you feel one of your arms being winded around her shoulders while one of hers wraps around your waist, “You’re an athlete, Carmilla. Honestly, has no one ever told you that breakfast is an important part of your day? You need to learn how to take care of yourself better.”

You want to nod along condescendingly to whatever she’s saying like normal, but the heaviness in your head tells you that that’s probably not the best idea and so you settle for pinching the back of her arm.

“What are you, five?” Laura yelps and you can’t help but laugh at her.

Despite your juvenile tendencies, however, she takes you back to your apartment using gentle nudges and careful hands. Once you’re there, she tuts at the mess of papers covering your kitchen table while you sit down on the couch.

“Sorry, haven’t had time to clean.” You aim for sarcasm and fall flat. It’s kind of true, though. You’ve had no time in which you could have done any hypothetical cleaning. Or wasted your time by not cleaning. “I got work to do.”

“No time to take care of yourself either?” Laura opens your fridge and pokes her head in. “Lucky for you, I had a very good Calculus tutor which means I’ve steamrolled through all the assignments and I’ve got time to cook us both some brunch.”

Before you can say something like _tell me more about this tutor_ or _oh really? I had the worst tutee,_ Laura says, “There is nothing in your fridge except for leftover take-out and ice cream sandwiches.”

“Sorry?” You offer, unsure if an apology is in order. Laura just tuts again and instructs you to stay put while she goes on a grocery run. You make a mental note to tease her later about the fact that she took an ice cream sandwich on her way out the door.

You drink some water and lie down and before you know it, she’s back and chopping up ingredients for some sort of salad that calls for an unbelievable amount of preparation. She babbles at you while she works and you get slightly weirded out by the fact that she doesn’t seem to have any difficulty finding anything in your kitchen despite the fact that this might as well be the first time she’s ever really been here. Laura even seems to know where all the light switches are.

The salad’s really good, too. You instantly feel better after a few bites. Your relief is short-lived, however, because as soon as you stop swaying in your seat, Laura demands that the two of you now also have breakfast together before running in the mornings.

You’re going to have to buy an air freshener or the whole place will reek of her.

//

You figure out pretty early on that Laura is more worried about the game she’ll have to play during the Budget Cut Roadtrip - you refuse to call it anything else because while other people may believe it’s some sort of honoured tradition, your teams sharing a bus, it’s clearly just Silas whittling down the budget of both teams for something stupid like erecting another anglerfish statue - than normal.

She pushes a little more when you run with her in the mornings that week, a shadow of her former maniac runner self, but still far from the Laura you’ve come to know who’s learned when to accelerate and when to slow down over the course of your routine runs so that you won’t fall too far back of her. You don’t really know what to do in order to help so you leave her alone for the most part except for just before you go to bed.

**Carmilla [1:29am]**

Did you know that from 1 to 1000, the letter a only appears once?

**Haura Lollis [1:29 am]**

i don’t get it tbh

**Carmilla [1:31 am]**

Think about the word forms of all the numbers.

**Haura Lollis [1:31 am]**

holy crap

**Haura Lollis [1:34 am]**

you blew my mind

**Haura Lollis [1:34 am]**

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen

**Haura Lollis [1:34 am]**

amazing

**Carmilla [1:34 am]**

Are you going to sleep and giving me peace and quiet any time soon?

**Haura Lollis [1:36 am]**

soon, just watching some scouting videos on yt

**Carmilla [1:37 am]**

Good.

Sometimes, she calls you a nerd. Other times she plays along. But she always assures you she’s going to sleep at a respectable hour of the night and swears it on her toilet - the graves of all the fish pets she’s ever had apparently - that she’s not lying. The night, morning, whatever before you both have to get your butts to school at a ridiculously early hour in order to get on the bus though, you get woken up by your phone vibrating on your nightstand.

**Haura Lollis [4:12 am]**

fun math fact?

**Carmilla [4:15 am]**

Do you know the sentence that people use so that they can remember the first eight digits of pi?

**Haura Lollis [4:15 am]**

May I have a large container of coffee?

**Carmilla [4:16 am]**

No. Though that’s exactly what I’ll be saying when I have to wake up in an hour to come get you, sweetheart.

**Carmilla [4:16 am]**

Can I have a small container of coffee. Go to sleep okay?

**Haura Lollis [4:17 am]**

i’ll try my best. i swear on my toilet.

//

Laura must take oaths sworn on her toilet very seriously because when it finally comes time for you to pick her up, you swear she’s asleep while standing in front of her front door. You’ve already gotten a coffee for yourself and something loaded with sugar for her and so you don’t really feel bad about honking your horn and startling her out of unconsciousness. In fact, you laugh at the way she stumbles and startles at the loud noise.

“Asshole.” She calls out at you and you chuckle to yourself before climbing out of the car to help her with her bag.

Less than an hour later, the two of you are settled into your seats at the back of the bus. You had, in a moment of weakness, allowed her to take the window seat, leaving you the choice of either actually watching Emilio Estevez quack and coach a hockey team on the bus TV for what would be the hundredth time or, the idea of it doesn’t seem as painful as it used to be, having a conversation with Laura.

“What are you listening to?”

She rolls her eyes, “Thought you were watching the movie and not bothering me for two hours.”

“Nope.” You’re aware that the way the end of the word pops out of your mouth annoys her and it makes you smile. You reach around her head to grab one of her earphones. “Is this Miley Cyrus?”

No, yeah, that’s _definitely_ Miley telling you that the view is well worth the climb or whatever.

“I thought the whole listening to Top 40 was just you trying to make my ears bleed. I wasn’t aware you actually liked it.”

She snatches the earphone away from you and winds the cord around the body of her iPod before tossing both into the seat pocket in front of her with a huff.

“Hey, I was kidding - “

“ _Please._ As if I actually care what you think.” You raise an eyebrow at her and she grimaces slightly. “Okay, maybe a little bit, but I’d rather talk to you instead of listen to music anyway.”

You don’t know what to say to that so you just keep your mouth shut.

“That’s not what I meant - “ Laura groans and pinches the skin between her eyebrows. “I just didn’t want you to think that - Oh, quit smirking at me it’s not like you don’t like talking to me.”

“I think everyone would rather talk to their friends than listen to Miley, Laura.”

“Aww, you called me your friend!” She reaches up to ruffle your hair and you smack her hand away. She then scrambles to her knees and leans over the back of the seat in front of her. “Hi, what’s your name?”

You hear Danny’s voice respond to Laura and you try to yank the little ball of newfound energy back to her chair, but she’s clinging too tightly to the seat.

“Nice to meet you, Danny!” Laura trills. “I’m Laura and this is my _friend_ Carmilla.”

She proceeds to introduce you to everyone in your vicinity as her friend in her overly cheerful voice, looking at you and smiling that annoying smile of hers the whole time, knowing perfectly well how irritated she’s made you. It’s not even an hour into the goddamn bus ride.

You’re going to kill her within the next four hours or so. You can feel it.

//

Not even ten minutes later, Laura passes out with her face pressed against the window. You laugh to yourself before taking a quick picture of her snoring soundly against the glass with your phone. Blackmail material.

//

Sometime in between farmland and more farmland, you fall asleep with your head tilted back against the seat. When you wake up, your neck feels like hell and Laura’s forehead is digging into your arm. You’re about to wake her when you remember that she was still up at four this morning.

So you try to stay completely still and you turn your head towards the TV at the front of the bus instead. You’ve only seen the second Mighty Ducks movie fifty times anyway.

//

Iceland is kicking Team USA’s butt in the movie - it still irks you that the hockey superpower in this movie isn’t Canada, but you understand that this stupidly lucky American team would not have gotten anywhere near gold if Canadians were playing in the movie - when Laura wakes up and says, “I’m hungry.”

You groan and rub at your eyes. She’s looking at you like she expects you to do something about what she’s just said.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“We bought a cookie earlier. It’s still in my bag.” She says, twisting her body so that her back is against the window and her socked feet are snug underneath one of your thighs.

“ _I_ bought the cookie.”

“Details.” Laura says, waving her arm as if to say _whatever._ “I’ll buy you lunch when we get there.”

It’s raining outside now and most of the bus’s occupants are awake, making it nearly impossible to even hear the movie over everyone’s conversations. You push against Laura’s legs so you can stand and retrieve the cookie she’s craving from the overhead compartment.

“Morning, thirteen.” Danny says when she spots you in the aisle just behind where she’s sat. “Your girlfriend bossing you around now?”

“Not my girlfriend.” You grunt at her, finally managing to pull the cookie free. “How are your gargantuan legs feeling in this cramped space?”

“Wow, I did not know you even had that in your vocabulary.”

“Shut up, Lawrence.”

“Gladly, Elvira.”

You hand the cookie to Laura and the lack of flat surface makes it impossible for the usual splitting and sharing to occur and so you two just end up alternating bites. It’s not long after she eats the last piece that the bus comes to a stop outside the hotel.

You think - as you walk off the bus with both of your bags and Laura shuffles out behind you - that that wasn’t anywhere near the worst five hours of your life.

//

You do, however, make one of the worst decisions in history when you tackle Laura into the pool.

She had hugged you earlier and that had proven to be some sort of catalyst for you to forget the fact that you’re still kind of denying the existence of this friendship. Honestly, it fucked with your brain because you don’t even think twice about deciding not to drink and spending your time sitting beside Laura instead.

And maybe you got somewhat drunk off of her because nothing else can really explain why you would subject yourself to seeing Laura in her bikini. You take it back, she’s attractive and worse yet, she definitely knows it.

It’s fun though, splashing water in her face and watching her splutter because no matter how many times you do so, she still doesn’t expect you to do it again. And she tries multiple times to dunk you, but of course, fails. You do allow her to perch on your shoulders when it comes to a massive chicken fight, though, and the two of you pretty much demolish the competition.

You don’t even remember the five hour bus ride back to campus because you spend most of it passed out and using one of Laura’s thighs as a pillow.

//

On the last day of the month, you drag yourself out of bed in order to hand two of your term papers into the respective mailboxes of your professors. Laura’s got an exam which means no running today so you wish her good luck over text and head toward the frat house where Kirsch lives instead.

“Hey, bro.” He greets you, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and yawning. “What’s up?”

“Wanna get some breakfast? My treat.”

He narrows his eyes at you, “With you and Laura?”

“No, dumbass, just me and you.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Maybe you’re a little too impatient, but he’s way too slow today for your liking. “‘Cause I’m hungry, beefcake.”

“No, like why are you alone?” He asks, grabbing a sweater from behind the door and stepping outside the house while pulling it on overtop his pyjama pants and old t-shirt. You’d almost forgotten how much Kirsch does not give a damn about his appearance. “Did you two fight again?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

He shrugs and you have to do the little walk-run combination you’ve perfected whenever you have to keep up with Danny or Kirsch or anyone with significantly longer legs.

“It’s just that you guys are always together now and it’s weird when you’re not together. Like how it’d be weird to see Monica without Chandler or Corey without what’s-her-name from Boy Meets World.”

“Topanga.” You supply not really knowing how you knew that. “And aren’t they both married couples? Laura and I are _not_ together.”

“Not together like how Danny and I aren’t together or really not together?”

It’s your turn to narrow your eyes, “You and Danny aren’t together in a weird way?”

He just shrugs at you.

“Laura and I are just _not together._ We’re barely even friends.”

“Really?” He opens the door to a restaurant and you take a quick glance up to see where he’s led you. IHOP, _of course._ “Because if I was out of the picture, she’d be your best bro, dude.”

“No.”

“Yes and you can sulk all you want at breakfast about this, I don’t mind. Changes are tough.”

Laura isn’t your best friend. Not even close. This idiot in front of you is your best friend and he knows you better than everyone else.

But then again, if he knows you better than anyone else, would that mean that he’s right?

“Get that from one of the stupid self-help books?”

“Nope.” He says proudly, puffing his chest out and eying the pancakes of the elderly couple beside you. “That’s my own advice to you. You’re welcome.”

The two of you order and you sift through the conversation in your head, trying to see if Kirsch’s words actually make any sort of sense, you get stuck on one detail, though.

“Tell me more about how you and Danny aren’t together in a different way than what not being together implies.”

He groans and lets his head drop to the table, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

You mock salute him, “I swear on Laura’s toilet.”

You have to spend the rest of the meal having to explain what you said to him which means having to explain that you and Laura have a sort of texting relationship and that that had begun one night because you missed her and at the end of it all, Kirsch looks at you smugly like you’ve somehow proven him right.

Best friend or not, you _hate_ that asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you very much for reading and you can always come find us on tumblr [here](http://itmustbebunnies.tumblr.com) and [here](http://sedinbrothers.tumblr.com).


	10. May - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka they’re definitely friends and it’s GROSS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Happy Tuesday! There's an additional POV in here, have fun with it! As always, we don't own anything!

You're cramming for one of your calculus finals one night, when your phone buzzes from where it's sitting on the table between you and Laura but you ignore it in favor of finishing your problem.  
  
Whatever it is, it can wait.  
  
You don't even make a move for it, but it seems that an unread notification is not something _Laura_ can deal with because you feel her gaze burning against your face for the longest time, and when you finally look up at her she sends a pointed look to the device sitting between the two of you.  
  
"Aren't you gonna check that?" She asks and you would've found it amusing that she’s this bothered by a simple notification, but between finals and other things you don't really have it in you to deal with Laura's particular brand of pettiness right now.  
  
"Wasn't planning on it, no." You say, and you waste no time going back to the sea of equations swimming in front of you.  
  
Laura isn't deterred. " _Carmilla._ "  
  
You take a deep breath before you meet her gaze again. You try to remind yourself that she isn't doing this to annoy you, that it's just Laura being her usual ball of excitement. It's not something she can't help and, honestly, it's one of the things that you like the most about her, though it _did_ use to drive you crazy for the entirety of your high school career.  
  
But this is not high school anymore and Laura is your _friend_ and she's not trying to pick a fight. You shouldn't have to remind yourself of that, but still - better to do that than to explode at her for no reason.  
  
Well, no _apparent_ reason.  
  
You finally give in and you roll your eyes at the smug grin that Laura sends you as you pick up your phone, right before she focuses back on her own work.  
  
When you unlock the screen, you find a text from an unknown number and you're confused for a second, before you manage to place the area code and the blood running through your veins starts to boil.  
  
**Unknown [10:25 pm]**

I know what's happening this week. Let me know if you're planning on doing anything stupid.  
  
It's unbelievable, really. That after so long, this is the kind of text you get.  
  
The message isn't signed or anything but you know exactly who it came from. And it just makes you a lot more irritated because she honestly has no right to be acting as if she didn't disappear out into the world and left you to fend for yourself when you needed her the most.  
  
It's _bullshit._  
  
You slam your phone back against the table and Laura looks up from her notes with a startle, furrowing her brows as she takes in your stiff posture and the glare that you're sure it's plastered on your face.  
  
For a little while neither of you say anything.  
  
Not surprisingly, Laura is the one to break the silence.  
  
"Who... was that?"  
  
You want to explain to her, you _do._ Just let the words past your lips and out in the open, between the two of you. But you have finals to worry about and this is the last thing either of you need right now.  
  
So you shake your head and you let out a clipped _no one_ and Laura narrows her eyes at you in a way that lets you know she can see right through your lie, but after a moment she seems to accept that you're not about to volunteer any information and she nods to herself.  
  
"Okay."  
  
You sigh and you watch as she buries her nose deeper into her notes and you do the same.  
  
Neither of you say anything until the moment Laura stretches and bids you goodnight as she gathers her things to leave. It’s awkward and you know that your bad mood has made her upset but you honestly don’t have it in yourself to apologize right now.  
  
You try to sleep once she's gone but you fail.  
  
It's one of the worst nights you've had in the past year.

//

You get up at the crack of dawn the next day and that pattern holds until the end of the week.

There’s no use in staying in bed if you’re not going to be able to fall asleep and, between the idea of staring at the ceiling in your cold room and getting up for breakfast with Laura, the choice is a no-brainer, really.

When Friday finally rolls around, you feel as if your body is ready to give up under you and - for once in the past _year_ , it has absolutely nothing to do with your fucked up knee.

It’s funny to think that you used to wait all year for this week and now you can barely manage to get yourself out of bed because the idea of spending the next Friday away from the person that matters most to you in your life is absolutely unbearable.

You hate feeling powerless. It’s the one thing that you’ve never been able to handle well and it seems that life is intent on fucking you up because somehow you always find yourself in situations where shit happens to you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

First your mother dying, then your father. Your fight with your stepmother and subsequent separation from your brother. Matska leaving.  Your knee snapping. Your head cracking.

Laura Hollis taking over your life.

(It’s ironic that Laura is the one thing you don’t hate about all of this.)

Last year had been hell. You remember sobbing into Kirsch’s arms and you remember hating yourself for having to accept things that had been forced upon you like that, but ever since your accident, something shifted.

Well, ever since _Laura_ , if you’re being honest.

Between laying out on that ice feeling as if your life was over and realizing that you actually had the power to change things, you made the decision that you weren’t gonna let this week pass by without trying to do _something._ But what, really? Your knowledge is limited and any idea you come up with just doesn’t seem enough and, between the pressure of passing your classes, playing hockey and dealing with everything else it’s  just - it’s _too much_.

You know Laura has noticed this too. She hasn’t directly asked but lately your mornings have been filled with concerned glances and her showing up at the crack of dawn with food under her arms and an annoying grin on her face and you kind of wanna hate her for it but you just _can’t_. Not when she’s being so supportive even though you’re being an asshole.

But you just don’t know how to tell her. Laura is already going through a lot and you don’t want for her to have to deal with your problems either.

(You ignore the part of your brain that tells you that you and Laura have been dealing with each other’s problems for a year now and it has made both of your lives better.)

There’s no telling when Laura became the person that you actually wanted to share every detail of your life with, but you just - that’s just too much for you right now.

So you decide to stick to what's safe.

When you unlock your phone the messages thread is already open. You glance one time at the unknown number and the two new messages under it and you take a deep breath before you go back and open Kirsch’s thread instead. An idea has been swimming in your brain for about a week now and you know, logically, that it’s a stupid one, but you’re running out of options and with twelve hours left you _have_ to try it.

**Carmilla [5:40 am]**

I have an idea. Meet me at my apartment tomorrow morning, we’re going on a roadtrip.

You don’t wait for an answer because you know that Kirsch is not gonna be up for another five hours at the very least, so you focus on getting ready for your run with Laura.

Before you leave, however, you send one last text to the number that has been haunting you for a week.

**Carmilla [5:55 am]**

I’m going there.

//

Kirsch shows up at your house just a little after you’re done with your post-run shower and you know from only a glance at his face that he thinks this whole thing is dumb as fuck but he’s gonna go through with it anyway because he’s your _bro_ and if that’s what you need him to do for you then he’ll do it, no questions asked.

(You think there’s a real chance that Kirsch might actually kill for you if you asked and you still haven’t decided on whether you find that flattering or downright scary.)

(You’ll come back to it later, though.)

“Where’s your better half?” It’s the first question he asks as he slips into your kitchen and moves straight for your refrigerator. You wanna say you’re surprised when he pulls out a can of Dr. Pepper, but - well, he _is_ your best friend.

He’s also the only reason why you even keep those disgusting things in your home, so he might as well make good use of it.

“Probably on her way to campus right now. She’s got two finals today.”

You’re distracted thinking of how the two of you reached such a gross level of friendship that you don’t even acknowledge the words coming out of your mouth before Kirsch chokes on his drink and nearly spits everything out on your kitchen floor.

“Dude.”

Your _better half_.

“Wait,” you rush out, shaking your head as Kirsch tries to get his breathing back to normal. “I didn’t- that’s not- you know what I meant.”

His coughing is growing exponentially bad and you should probably be trying to find a way to help him - you know, _not_ \- but the meaning of his words have opened a can of worm that you’re not ready to deal with at this particular moment.

And it’s not as if he meant in a romantic way, you’re sure. Though it _is_ annoying that he’s talking about Laura as your better half when only a few months ago he could barely stand her as well.

(Actually, he probably liked her just fine. Sometimes you hate that he’s such a nice dude.)

It’s not as if the idea is a complete stretch. Well, actually, it _is_. You’re barely even friends with the girl and he’s already implying that you’re more than that. It figures that he’d revert to that sexist bullshit that has men objectifying girls and fantasizing about two friends together because this is what society is all about these days.

Or maybe - maybe you’re just overthinking this whole thing.

Which is most definitely _not_ what you need right now.

(Fuck.)

“Dude,” Kirsch coughs out. “ _Relax_. I really didn’t mean anything by that. I can see the vein on your forehead about to pop.”

You want to tell him to fuck off, that there’s not going to be any veins popping anytime soon because you’re _not_ reading too much into his words - but you swear you can _feel_ it throbbing on your face and your body is growing hot and there’s a chance that you might be starting to hyperventilate and _what the fuck_ , really?

The last thing you need right now is to be analyzing your friendship with Laura.

(And that’s all that is. A friendship. And barely that. Nothing more.)

“Are you ready to go?” You ask him once you’ve managed to push all thoughts about Laura to the back of your mind. They need to stay there until you’re through with this day otherwise you don’t think you’re gonna make it.

The question seems to sober him up as well, because he glances at you from under his lashes, twisting the now-empty can on his hand, “You sure you wanna do this?”

It’s not the first time he’s asked you this and - like all other times - you answer him without hesitating, “ _Yes._ ”

That seems to be the only answer he needs because he pulls out the keys from his pockets and dangles them in his hand.

“Come on, I drove over.”

You glare at him, “You’re not driving.”

“Oh, I am,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m not getting in that matchbox you call a car and you’re not driving my truck. So deal with it.”

If it were anyone else you’d be telling them to fuck off right now, but you don’t think you can do this alone. You’re not gonna be the one to tell him, but you have a feeling that Kirsch knows this just as well as you do.

So you climb into his truck and you put your feet on the dashboard and when Kirsch glares at you you just shrug and give him your most infuriating smile.

“Let’s go, beefcake.”

 

* * *

 

Carmilla falls asleep as soon as you get on the highway and you can’t really say that you’re surprised.

You don’t know a whole lot of things, that’s true, but you know _her_. And you can only imagine how difficult today must be.

The thing is - you’re an only child. You never really knew that much about friendship before you got into Silas. And though the Zetas are - you know - your _bros_ , it wasn’t until you met Carmilla that you actually realized what it meant to care about someone just as much as you care about yourself.

You’ve only ever felt that with your mother, but that doesn’t count, not really. Because your mother is awesome and you’re supposed to feel like that about her. But then you found out Carmilla is _also_ awesome so it made sense that she’d come to mean so much to you over the years.

You think.

The logic doesn’t matter a whole lot.

But Carmilla. Well, Carmilla is _not_ an only child. And you know that you’re important to her in a way that not a whole lot of people are, but if you were to make a list of it you’d probably only be up to number three when it came to the people that are important to her. Or maybe four, now that Laura is around.

Well, actually, if you think of her sister… Yeah, no, number three is probably good. Those two are confusing.

But Will. You don’t know the dude, but you know he’s number one. Always been. And you didn’t even realize that until one day during freshman year when Carmilla totally broke down at a party and you took care of her because crying chicks shouldn’t have to be by themselves and that was the least you could do.

She didn’t tell you the details, not at first. There was only a lot of crying and angry accusations at her mother and spiteful remarks at Matska - and what kind of name _is that_ , really? - not to mention an insane amount of self-loathing that you don’t miss at all, but when she finally came around to tell you the whole story - well, it wasn’t pretty.

Her parents died. Her stepmother became her legal guardian. She and Will were apparently really close, though things with Matska were… well, you never really got that. Apparently they were close up until the point Carmilla decided she wasn’t about to put up with her stepmother’s bullshit things just hit the fan.

Her mother sent Will up to a boarding school that might as well have been a prison and Matska just disappeared into the world without so much as a goodbye to her sister.

Freshman Carmilla sobbing over the loss of her siblings wasn’t a pretty sight.

And, well, you never knew how to care for someone, but you figured that if you were gonna have lots of bros living with you, you might as well make room for one more, right? And yeah, you couldn’t really replace what she lost but - you could make things a bit better, right? Maybe. And it didn’t mean that she wasn’t a mess when this date came around and it didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t allowed to see her baby brother and her older sister apparently didn’t care about two shits, but you were _there_.

It might not have been much, but you hope it was at least _something._

//

When you reach the woods close to the school there’s already another car there and for a moment you think this is finally the moment when your adventures with Carmilla are gonna get you killed.

Or worse, _in jail._

(Your mother would kill you if that ever happened.)

“Yo, dude.” You nudge her, keeping your eyes focused on the black SUV in front of you. “Wake up.”

Logically, you should be backing out and away. You could pretend that this didn’t happen and you were just two kids who accidentally got lost in the woods. No harm, no foul, right?

That could work.

Before you can do that, however, Carmilla shifts next to you and blinks her eyes open, using the palm of her hand to rub the sleep off them. “Are we there yet?”

“Uh, yeah,” you nod. “But I don’t think you should be here. As a matter of fact, I think we should leave. Now. Before we end up in jail.”

She turns her head to you and her eyes narrow in a way that lets you know without any words at all that you’re not making sense and right now she’s considering you to be the biggest idiot who’s ever walked this earth, which - well, nothing _new_ there.

You point to the car parked a few meters away from you, “Creepy looking SUV, look.”

And Carmilla does look.

And then she’s out of the car faster than a blink of an eye and you have to wonder if her feet have permanent skates on them because it’s just _not_ possible for her to be almost asleep next to you in one second and nearly be smacking the windows down of the creepy SUV in the next, which, no, no, no, _bad_ idea.

“Fuck, dude!”

Before you can get your goddamn seat belt off, however, someone else is stepping out of the car and you don’t need to look twice to know exactly who it is.

She looks even scarier in person than she does in the pictures that you know are shoved in a box on the very deep end of Carmilla’s closet because you’re the one who helped her put them there in the first place.

“Oh, shit.”

You don’t know what to do, really. They seem to be in a heavy argument and maybe you shouldn’t get in the middle of that, but _Carmilla_. Maybe their relationship isn’t any of your business but you’re not about to let your friend go through this emotional bullshit all by herself again.

But the things they’re yelling at each other keep you in your place. Yes, you want to be supportive of Carmilla because she’s always been there for you as well, but you realize that this is not the moment for you to do that. And there’s no tears in her eyes so maybe she doesn’t need you to come saving her right now.

Besides, you’re not gonna be of any use if you get in the middle of two girls while they’re fighting. Who knows what might happen to you? They might decide to claw your eyes out. That’s perfectly possible.

So you decided to just let them have it. If things become too much, you’ll step in. First because you don’t want anything to happen to Carmilla and second because you have a feeling that someone might kill you if that ever happened.

And by _someone_ , you mean Laura.

Laura who probably doesn’t even know this whole thing is going down. Which is not a surprise, but it kind of is. Because you didn’t really mean anything when you said that she was Carmilla’s better half, but you’re starting to realize that she kind of _is_. And you can only imagine how she’s gonna feel when she finds out that there’s a whole lot more to Carmilla than she originally found out.

But that’s not your business, though. You like Laura. She’s fun and she’s a ridiculously good soccer player but if you had to choose between Carmilla and her - it wouldn’t really be a choice at all.

A knock on your glass brings you back to reality and you realize that Carmilla is standing on the other side of your door, red cheeks and thin lips, but otherwise unscathed.

“We’re going inside.” She tells you once you lower your window.

(Your goddamn belt is still stuck and you make a note to get that thing checked once you get back to campus.)

“And by we, you mean-”

“Mattie and I.” She explains, and you nod. “I was gonna go through the window, you know, whole Mission Impossible style, but she says she can get us through the door and past Mother’s bullshit ban. I just-”

She runs a hand through her hair and you can see a flash of exhaustion seeping through. You can’t imagine how hard this is for her.

“I know.” You reassure her, because that’s all you can do right now. “I’ll be here when you get back, don’t worry.”

She looks back to where her sister is standing - all arms crossed and imposing demeanor - and then back at you. After a few moments of staring, her lips split into a small and barely-there smile.

“Thank you.”

You slip your arm out and you ruffle her hair. It’s a testament to this moment that she doesn’t even try to knock your hand off.

“You’re welcome, lil bro. Now go see your brother. I’ll be here digging into all of that junk food I bought you that you didn’t eat.”

She rolls her eyes at you and then jogs back to her sister and together they disappear into the woods.

You pull on your seat belt again and it finally clicks open, so you push back your seat and you grab a pack of chips. Carmilla’s iPad is sitting on top of her bag and you grab that too because you might as well make good use of your time and the fact that, for some weird miracle, you actually have signal right now.

Netflix it is.

(You’ve been meaning to finish the third season of Sons of Anarchy anyway, so all the better.)

//

When Carmilla slips back out the scary looking door a whole three hours later - you’ve gone through four episodes and a nap - her eyes are bloodshot and her nose is almost purple with how red it is, but she has the biggest grin that you’ve ever seen on her face in all of the years that you’ve know her.

She actually hugs Mattie goodbye and when she takes her place next to you you’re surprised that she throws her arms around you as well.

“Good?” You ask, because Carmilla being affectionate is kind of you weird and you don’t really know if you should call her out on it or just let it be.

The latter is probably best. You think she’s _happy_ right now and you don’t want to be the one to ruin that.

“Good.” She nods. And then she looks at her phone and her grin gets even bigger than you thought possible. “Laura is bringing takeout after her test today, you wanna join us?”

You find yourself nodding before you can even think about it.

There’s something prideful about being a Zeta Omega Mu. It’s the biggest male fraternity in one of the biggest college towns in your country and you know your father was a part of it before you and your grandfather too before the both of you. You didn’t know either of them really well but you know that it’s a tradition you should uphold and you’re proud to do so, you _are_. You’re gonna carry that with you for the rest of your life.

But none of your brothers could ever compare to Carmilla.

(And tradition be damned, you’d take her over them anytime.)

 

* * *

 

Dr. Nolan’s office is, well, cozy.

The waiting room is carpeted green and painted orange. To top it off, the furniture is mismatched and the receptionist’s desk looks like it’s about to fall apart. _Professional_ , alright.

You pick one of the, surprisingly, many rocking chairs to wait in as you somehow managed to arrive half an hour early despite stalling as much as you could for time. You had come straight from class, sure that you’d talk yourself out of going to the appointment if you go home beforehand. You’d stopped to buy a bagel at a bakery and even took your sweet time locking your bike up outside, still, a whole half an hour early.

The place looks a little strange, but you find that it makes you feel better about the fact that you’re only in jeans and a t-shirt while also carrying around your backpack and bike helmet. You feel more at ease than you would sitting in a stiff leather armchair in the middle of a sophisticated waiting area. Already, a lot of the apprehension you had felt at the thought of your appointment is gone and comfort has settled in.

Well, then. Point to Dr. Nolan for that.

You pass time by scrolling through your Instagram and Twitter feeds. You’re in the middle of sending Carmilla a link to a Buzzfeed article on _Modern Math Equations_ that have humorous answers because you know it’ll rile her up when an older woman walks out of what you assume is Dr. Nolan’s office.

“Ms. Hollis.” The receptionist says after the woman walks through the waiting room and out the door. “Dr. Nolan will see you now.”

//

The doctor and the doctor’s office aren’t much different from the waiting room. Inside, the office has the same green carpet, but the walls are a light blue complete with clouds painted on. There isn’t a desk or a computer chair. Though there is a laptop perched on top of the unusually wide window sill and one of the walls is covered in various certificates and diplomas.

Dr. Nolan is sat on a bean bag in the middle of the room. There are more mismatched pieces of furniture around her like multiple armchairs and bookshelves that range from a minimalist design to one that towers over everything else and is a bright neon purple. When you enter, she stands to greet you.

“Hi, you must be Laura.” She says, holding her hand out for you to shake. “Please call me Jamie.”

“Sure.” You say, feeling anything but.

She gestures for you to take a seat somewhere and you pick one of the armchairs.

“The place used to be a daycare. As you can see by the clouds.”

“Cool.”

She folds her hands in her lap and tilts her head before saying, “So, Laura, what would you like to talk about today?”

 _Hell_ , you decide to cut right to the chase.

“My mother left me and my father behind when I was sixteen.”

“How do you feel about that?”

You stare at her in silence.

“Okay, better question. Where do you feel that?”

You’re not entirely sure what she means, but you give the first answer that comes to mind, “At home, I guess. Why?”

There’s a pause before Jamie speaks again.

“You’re an athlete right? Catherine sent your file. Have you ever gotten injured playing?”

You nod.

“What’s the first step to recovery?”

“Rest?”

“Before that.”

You think about the time in January when you’d hurt your ankle, “Calling for help?”

Jamie smiles, “After that. Or maybe before. Depends on the person, I guess.”

When you don’t answer, she leans forward. You meet her eyes, which are brown and comfortable. She says, “First, Laura, you’re going to have to figure out where it hurts.”

//

Where does it hurt?

It hurts in your lungs, in your shoulders, in your knees after soccer matches, it hurts in your neck when you think too much about it. In fact, it would probably be easier to tell Jamie where it doesn’t.

It doesn’t hurt in your back when LaFontaine and Perry have their arms wrapped around you and the muscles on your face don’t hurt when you smile back at Carmilla when you’re hanging out together. It doesn’t hurt in your chest when you’re bearing down on goal during a match and you know your teammates have your back no matter what.

You’re not sure how to explain that to Jamie, though.

//

It's probably around three in the morning when you hear a knock on your bedroom door. You're finishing up the last two questions of a Biology study guide and you're so pumped full of caffeine that you don't think you've blinked for the last hour.

“Laura.” Your father says, peeking around from the other side of the door to look at you. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I know, Dad.”

“You need to get some sleep.” He says, stepping into your room. You stop what you’re doing for a minute because you don’t think he’s been in here since -

No, he definitely hasn’t been in here for a while.

“I will, Dad.” You respond, but he’s not really paying attention to you anymore. Instead, he’s studying the pictures and other things that you’ve hung up on the walls. He stops to touch one of the medals that’s looped around a trophy sitting on your bookshelf.

“You have a lot of these.” He says, turning to smile at you. “I still remember having to stop you from trying to eat the first one you were given when you were a kid.”

“You’ve got to be joking. I wasn’t _that_ stupid as a kid, was I?”

He turns to look at you and you feel five years old under the weight of his stare all over again, “You thought it was a hashbrown.”

There’s a moment when you’re not sure if the laugh that echoes around the room is merely a figment of your imagination or if it actually came out of your mouth, the way your father’s eyes crinkle tells you it’s the latter, though.

“Haven’t heard that in a long time.” He says, taking a step towards you. “I used to be the only one who could get you to laugh as a baby, did you know? It didn’t matter if you were crying or if you’d hit your head trying to reach the cookie jar again, I always knew how to make you feel better.”

He looks hesitant for a brief second before he walks over and kneels down in front of where you’re sat at the computer chair. From this close, you can see the light green specks in his irises and the furrow of his brow looks less harsh and more...concerned.

Your throat feels tight all of a sudden, like you can’t quite get enough air.

(You make a mental note to add that to the list of places where it hurts.)

He smiles again and takes your hands in his.

“When your mom left - “ He clears his throat. “When she left I didn’t know how to take care of myself and I didn’t know how to take care of you. You look like her, you know? And I thought if she didn’t need me to take care of her, you might not need me either. “

You open your mouth to say something, but it gets stuck in your lungs.

“I’m sorry, Laura.” He says quietly, slowly, _like he means it_. “I am so sorry.”

Not for the first time, and not for the last, you cry yourself out on your father’s shoulder.

It no longer hurts in your lungs.

//

Somehow - you’ve learned to stop questioning how this thing between you and Carmilla works - you end up falling into a routine that involves walking over to Carmilla’s early in the morning for breakfast, running with her, and then going home only to bike back to her place after class with your school bag.

Her kitchen table makes for a great place to study considering she never even uses the surface to eat. In fact, in the several times you’ve been over to her apartment, you’ve seen her eat on the floor, on the couch, and even in bed, but never the table. She uses it more like a desk, where she piles her papers and books and scattered writing instruments. The floor isn’t free of her school supplies either. In fact, you’ve stepped on her compass more than once.

The thing about it though is that you don’t necessarily mind the mess. Normally, you’d be bothered and a little put off by it, but Carmilla’s open books and half-torn pieces of paper containing her homework or notes are kind of endearing. It’s almost like she’s too focused on the task at hand - cramming for numerous exams - to pay attention to her environment. Of course, every now and then she’ll pause and smile at you or make a half-hearted attempt at being an asshole by commenting on how annoying your phone going off every few minutes is - you’re in a group chat with the team and you are not muting that conversation in case something important comes up, which _never_ happens, but a captain has to be prepared - but mostly she’s like a little kitten with a ball of yarn.

//

The night before your Biology final and Carmilla’s something-to-do-with-Math final, your phone buzzes six times in quick succession, causing Carmilla to look up from whatever she’s writing just to glare at you. At first you think it might be her playing and referencing the squabble the two of you had gotten in a few days previously, but after another half-second you can tell that she's definitely _annoyed_.

“That better be a life or death issue for the soccer team.” She says, glaring at your phone in a way that makes you fear for its safety. Her eyes narrow even more when it vibrates again. “Seriously, Laura.”

“Sorry.” You sigh, putting your pen down and reaching for the phone. “It’s not even the team, I think. Just Snapchat.”

Carmilla’s face screws up in what you recognize as her look of confusion, “ _Who sends nudes on a Wednesday night_?”

“Not all the Snapchats I receive are nudes, Carm.” You say, rolling your eyes at her. “Sometimes Perry sends me snaps of her dog or whatever arts and crafts thing she’s working on.”

“I don’t even know who that is.” Carmilla says and you make a mental note to introduce her to LaFontaine and Perry because it’s about time they met her. She pushes the phone towards your fingers and raises an eyebrow in challenge. “But I’d be willing to bet what you just got aren’t pictures of puppies.”

You’re about to roll your eyes at her again when you spot the username flashing up on your screen and cut yourself short. The corners of Carmilla’s mouth turn downwards and she ducks her head and returns to her work, “Thought so. Just make sure it doesn’t disturb my reading again.”

“Well, I can’t really promise that as I’m not the one who’s making it buzz every two seconds.” You bite out, annoyed at her for being annoyed _at you_ and not knowing why her sudden mood change bothers you so much.

Carmilla looks up from what she’s doing again to give you a look that can only be described as murderous. “Cupcake, if you would rather go see some girl instead of sitting here with me, then you’re more than welcome to leave.”

“I never said - _God_ , what is your problem?” You hold your arm out at an awkward angle so that she can see the phone screen too before you press down on the app in question and hit the x button that appears. “There, it’s gone now, happy?”

She doesn’t say anything, but does offer you some hot cocoa a few minutes later with something that looks like an apology in her eyes. You realize that your annoyance can be attributed to the fact that you’d become so used to Carmilla’s soft side that it feels a little bit like failure whenever something you do draws out this other side of her.

//

"Hey." You say one Thursday night when she seems particularly on edge. "I can leave, if something's bothering you."

 _If I'm bothering you_.

"No." She snaps before sighing and pushing away the stack of paper she's been highlighting. "It's not you. I just have something to deal with tomorrow."

"Okay." You say slowly. You stare at her for a bit to gauge how likely it is that she'll say anything else about it and decide that it's not even worth an effort. "I have two finals tomorrow, but I can come by after?"

Her frown smooths over, "I think I'd like that very much."

Then she says, "I'll text you." and goes back to her pile of papers.

//

In a cruel twist of fate, Carmilla finishes all of her exams before you do. She _is_ kind enough to continue letting you study at her apartment, though, even going as far as helping you out with the practice exam questions for your Calculus final when you ask her to do so.

(Another place to add to the list places where it doesn’t hurt: In your hands whenever you see Carmilla rubbing a palm over her knee.)

A few days before the actual exam, however, she gets antsy to the point that she’s more of a hindrance than a help.

Carmilla says, “After you get through the toddler math you’re doing, we can go for a run.”

“Carmilla, it’s _calculus_.” You say, scowling at her because she doesn’t have to be such a jerk about the fact that she’s got a weird symbiotic relationship with numbers.

“Like I said.” She waves her hand as if to say _yeah, yeah_. “Simple.”

You grab the eraser on the table next to you and chuck it with as much force as you can in her general direction. She watches it sail painlessly over her head and then turns to you, eyebrow quirked.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” She smirks and settles deeper into the chair she’s lounging on. “You’re a spaz when you go without runner’s high.”

“Carmilla. _Shut up_.”

“I’m going without you if you’re not ready in half an hour.”

“You _wouldn’t_.”

“Try me.”

//

You end up abandoning Calculus in favor of going for the run Carmilla seems to desperately want. She walks you over to your house and waits outside while you get ready.

The orange glow of the sun as it sets distracts you a little as the two of you start off on a slow jog. It makes you feel like everything is sharper somehow, this old sunlight, and Carmilla has to cluck her tongue at you in order for you to snap out of it and pick up your pace.

She moves almost effortlessly now compared to her Bambi legs of eight months ago. You follow the usual route down the street you live on and for that you’re thankful because the sun might be making your surroundings sharper, but all it does is soften Carmilla’s angles and you _can’t_ take your eyes off of her.

She’s been by your side now for almost a year. Almost a year of her pushing you and poking at you to figure out exactly what makes you tick and you don’t know exactly when her footfalls on the pavement started to match the rapid beating of the heart that’s in your chest and you don’t want to think about where you’d be without her.

She turns right instead of left at the intersection and you follow along, not really in the mood to argue and run at the same time. You haven’t seen her take control of a run like this before and you like the challenge of having to keep up with her instead of it being the other way around.

It keeps you on your toes in the same way she does.

It’s only when she starts to push the pace that your autopilot kicks in, allowing you to keep up with her slightly longer strides. The determination you can hear in the way she breathes makes you feel like you’re flying and you run beside her in silence, realizing that this run is different from the others, different from the ones that have left her panting for breath as you round just another street corner.

There’s something different about Carmilla in this sun.

It distracts you to the point that you almost miss the fact that you’re coming up to the bottom of the hill until Carmilla goes into another gear completely and a part of you wants to see how long she can keep it up, but another is content watching her. The two of you streak past the trees that line the sidewalk and she turns her head to give you a bashful grin before transitioning into a pace that you honestly didn’t think she had in her. It's almost like a weight has been lifted off of her shoulders and it makes you think about what it was she had to take care of a few days ago, but now probably isn't the time to ask.

Instead, you think of how much she used to wince in pain and how she’d pull up just short every time she came up to that hill. You think of _everything_ she’s been through and you wonder if Icarus soaring too close to the sun looked anywhere near as beautiful as Carmilla does chasing this sunset.

Soon, you’re at the foot of the hill and you have to make a choice between keeping up or _watching her_ keep it up and your legs slow down almost automatically because you never really had a choice to begin with. When she notices that you’ve fallen back and turns to look, you raise an arm at her in encouragement.

“Yeah!” Your voice is hoarse and you’re not sure she hears you, but it doesn’t matter because the incline doesn’t even slow her down and you’re completely amazed, standing on the sidewalk, your arm now slung across the top of your head.

You _are in awe_ of her and the complete lack of _quit_ in her bones and you feel like you’re drowning in this sun and your heart - it doesn’t hurt there _at all_ \- is still beating in time to her stride.

You wonder when it stopped paying attention to you and started reacting to her instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want, you can say hi [here](http://itmustbebunnies.tumblr.com) and [here](http://sedinbrothers.tumblr.com).


	11. June - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka Laura pines so much she’s basically an evergreen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Reading!

You see Jamie once a week after your initial meeting. The third time, she hands you an apron and a paintbrush when you walk in through the door.

"How tall are you?" She asks.

"Uh. Not very." You respond, trying to balance the paint brush in your hands while also putting on the apron. Jamie walks off towards where you can see she's got a stepladder leant against the wall."What are we doing today?"

"We're painting the office."

"You want me to paint the office." You repeat slowly back at her, not sure you're registering her words correctly.

"Well, I can't very well ask Mrs. Norris to do it."

It takes a moment for you to realize that Mrs. Norris must be the elderly lady that you always see leaving just before your appointment.

"Here." Jamie presents you with the stepladder. "You can work on this portion of the wall and I'll work on that side while we talk."

"Okay." You respond. You've learned very quickly not to question Jamie's methods. "Am I painting over the clouds?"

"What? No. You're painting _more_ clouds."

Alright then.

//

You've gotten into the habit of showing up to Carmilla's unannounced - is it still considered an unannounced visit if you've made it a habit to the point that she expects you to be there? - on Friday nights. There isn't even a flimsy excuse like homework to hide your actions behind this time because the school year is over and both of your seasons have come to an end. You can no longer deny that you genuinely like spending time with her. Even if it means you have to sit through the Montreal Canadiens' playoff games, which _honestly_ , if you wanted to watch hockey you should just stay home with your Dad, but watching it with Carmilla feels different.

It almost doesn't feel like a waste of your time.

"Dad." You say as you're walking past him towards the door. It's almost routine now, coming home from therapy, taking a shower, going to Carmilla's. "I'm going to Carm's."

He normally just waves a hand at you in dismissal while he watches TV, but this time he pauses and turns to look at you. "I was thinking." He starts, someone scores on the TV behind him and he doesn't even look back or lets his attention waver from you. "You should invite her to dinner on Sunday."

"Oh." Your throat constricts a little bit at the thought - you haven't invited anyone over in years, not even LaF or Perry, they come over anyways, but whatever - but your brain says _it's just Carmilla_ and _no need to be nervous_ and you're slightly alarmed to find that the voice of reason in your head sounds oddly like Jamie these days. "Sure, I'll ask her if she's up for it."

"Okay, pumpkin. Have fun."

"Thanks, Dad."

//

"Do you want to have dinner with me and my Dad on Sunday?" You ask Carmilla as soon as she opens her door. Quite suddenly, the slight smile on her face drops and she looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I don't think that's the best idea, cutie."

"Why not?"

She worries her bottom lip with her teeth and you get so lost watching her do so that you don't catch what she says in response.

"Sorry?" You ask, eyes snapping away from her mouth and back to her eyes.

"I said that you should probably come inside." She shuffles backwards and holds the door open. When you don't move, she says hoarsely, " _Laura._ "

"Oh. Sorry." You step inside and watch her shut the door behind you. "Are you sick?"

"No, just practicing my bedroom voice." The look on your face must convey the horror you feel due to the thought of you _liking_ what Carmilla calls her bedroom voice because she snaps her fingers in front of your face almost immediately after turning away from the door and to you. "I'm _kidding._ I have a cough. What is wrong with you today?"

"Nothing. Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry." Carmilla snaps.

"Sorry." You raise your hands in defence when she glares. "I'll stop, I promise."

She shakes her head disbelievingly, "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Whatever you're having."

"Laura," She says, rolling her eyes. "I'm having a beer."

"Right. I knew that. Do you have juice?"

"Yeah." Carmilla wanders off into the kitchen and you follow, hoisting yourself onto the kitchen table beside a pile of books. She takes out a glass and pours you some orange juice before pulling a beer out of the fridge as well. She puts the juice down beside you, flexes her arm, presses the lid of her bottle just under her elbow, and twists so that the cap comes off. You down your orange juice to keep from spluttering.

"Jesus, you took that like a double shot." She raises an eyebrow. "Want more?"

You nod and she takes the glass from your hand to refill it. You find your eyes tracing the curve of her back without your permission.

"So." You clear your throat, hoping that that didn't sound as much like a squeak as you feel like it did. "Why isn't coming over for dinner a good idea?"

Carmilla nudges the fridge shut with her foot and hands you your glass back with a grimace. You put it down on the table beside you.

“I don’t think your dad would be too pleased to see me.” She shrugs. “We had a...disagreement a while back.”

That’s news to you.

“About what?”

Carmilla puts her beer down on the table beside your glass and scratches her neck, “About you, actually.”

Your throat clogs up and it’s like there’s something in your chest trying to claw its way out of your mouth, but you swallow it down and keep your eyes on Carmilla. She’s not looking at you. Instead, she’s glaring at the floor and you would probably find it endearing if she didn’t look like she’s expecting you to yell at her or kick her. Or both.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” When you don’t answer, she takes a step closer. “It wasn’t my place, I know that, but I’m not sorry I did it. He treated you like crap, Laura.”

Your mind flashes back to the time he randomly showed up at one of your matches. You know that it’s taken a lot out of him to put in the effort these past few months and that behind everything he’s done recently, and everything he’s said, there’s a genuine remorse about how broken your relationship with him is, but it’s never made sense to you what exactly made him change.

With Carmilla standing in front of you as if admitting to committing a crime - what she did  is so far from being criminal and you plan to tell her so - everything becomes clearer. You think of all the things she’s done for you and how you felt that day, watching her climb that hill and it feels like something that’s been floating around in your chest has finally clicked into place. For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like someone cares and it’s _wonderful._

All of a sudden, you’re crying and you barely register the look of alarm that crosses Carmilla’s face before she’s standing between your knees and sweeping you into a hug that feels so warm and safe that it gets you crying all over again.

“Hey. Hey.” She says, nudging your head with her chin. You have your arms linked around her back while one of her hands cradles your head, other arm wrapped securely around your shoulders. “Are these angry tears or - “

“Not angry tears.” You mumble against her shoulder and she seems to sag against you in relief.

“Okay.” You keep your hold on her and she lets you for a while. When she does try to pull away, though, you only grumble and tighten your arms around her. “Alright.” She chuckles. “I should have known you’re a clinger. Let me know when I can go back to living my life.”

It takes a while, but eventually, you feel stable enough to detach yourself from Carmilla’s warmth. She hands you your orange juice and you stare down at it, knowing she expects you to say something.

“I guess it was stupid of me to think that he’d changed on his own. That maybe _I’d_ done enough to change his mind.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Carmilla huffs. “You’re - I think that - Coach is really lucky to have you and he knows it. He just needed a push in the right direction.”

You take a sip of your juice before speaking again, “It’s hard to believe that when I remember what he was like before, I guess. And how I felt.”

“At least he’s apologized, right? Family is family. Even if they do turn their back on you for a while. God knows I understand how that feels.”

You have a feeling she’s no longer talking about you and your father, not by a longshot, so you hold eye contact with her for a moment before she looks away and makes as if to grab her bottle of beer. Your hand on her shoulder stops her.

“You can tell me anything.” You tell her. “You know that right?”

“This isn’t about me. We’re talking about _you._ ”

“We’ve been talking about me for months.” You laugh and take her hand. Her skin feels soft under your fingers. “I’m kinda tired of it.”

She seems to be thinking it over in her head. Finally, she nods. “I want to show you something.”

“Okay.” You say.

And you follow.

//

The something turns out to be a box of pictures buried deep in Carmilla’s closet. She spreads them out on her bed and lets you look at them while she talks. You find yourself thumbing through photos of Carmilla in various stages of growth. You briefly entertain the idea of stealing one of her as a toddler, but ultimately decide against it.

You get so unbelievably angry on her behalf as her story continues, but more than anything, it makes you even more thankful for the woman sitting in front of you. Grateful that even during one of the roughest stretches of time in her life, she managed to make room for your problems and adopt them as her own.

When she finishes talking, she doesn’t cry, but you dare yourself anyway and press a kiss against her forehead in a gesture of comfort.

“Thank you.” She says at the same time that you do.

It’s about time you thanked her for the last ten months, you think.

//

Carmilla comes over for dinner on Sunday night. She brings a bottle of wine that your dad takes off of her hands as soon as she walks in through the door.

“He’ll like that.” You say as she takes her shoes off.

“We both will. Oh, I have something for you, too.” She unzips her purse and hands you a juicebox, smirk firmly in place. “Didn’t think I’d forget about you, did you?”

You glare at her, but take the apple juice from her anyways.

At first, the conversation over dinner is stilted and awkward, but eventually as you knew they would, the two of them manage to steer the talk to hockey and tactics and you would roll your eyes if you weren’t so happy that they’re getting along.

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about implementing in the way we play next year.” Your dad says about something they call _the cycle._ “It would be good for the players who aren’t so quick on their feet.”

“Yeah, I definitely agree.” Carmilla chews thoughtfully. “It would be cool to change the system a little bit, though I’m not sure I’ll be back to see it.”

You almost drop your fork.

“You haven’t decided about junior year yet?”

Carmilla shrugs, “Thinking about quitting to be honest, Coach. Maybe focus on classes a little more.”

“Are you allowed to do that?” You ask Carmilla before turning to your dad. You’re not quite sure why this bothers you as much as it does. “Is she allowed to just quit?”

“If she wants to, I don’t see why not.” He says. “Focusing on school work is an excellent reason to give up a sport. Now, Carmilla, who would you put your money on to win the Cup this year?”

Of course, they spend the rest of dinner arguing over which team has the best chance of winning and you barely participate in the discussion, but enjoy it nonetheless. Afterwards, your dad excuses himself to watch whatever game is on tonight while you clean up. You half-expect Carmilla to trail after him, but she stays in her seat and waves him off.

“No, I’m okay, Coach. I’ll just help Laura here with the dishes before I head home.” She flashes you a grin and you can’t help smiling back.

“You sure? You can both watch with me and leave the cleaning up for later.”

“Nah, we have this covered.” Her grin twists into a smirk. “You can go and pretend your Leafs made the playoffs.”

“I am benching you next year.” Your dad says jokingly as he leaves the two of you alone. “Have a goodnight, Carmilla.”

“You too, Coach.”

When he’s out of earshot, Carmilla says, “That went well, right?”

“Better than well.” You assure her. “I actually think he might like your personality. Which is a shock since I don’t see why anyone would like you.”

“Yeah?” Her smile turns smug. “But you like me, so what does that make you?”

Your stomach does a backflip, but you only roll your eyes at her.

“Besides,” She continues, elbows on the table. “I apologized for yelling at him about you. What’s he got not to like about my personality now?”

“You did? When?”

“When you were getting dessert out of the fridge.” She leans back in her seat. “Thank you for dinner, by the way.”

“You can pay me back by loading the dishwasher.”

She scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest, but you find - as you have been for the last few months - that when it comes time, she’s more than eager to help when you need it.

//

You obsess over the Carmilla-quitting-hockey thing for about two weeks before deciding that you should probably just talk to her about it like a normal person. It feels wrong to you, the idea of hockey and Carmilla being two separate things. So you decide to say something one night while the two of you are watching a hockey game on TV. Carmilla’s got her legs draped over your lap and you’re taking advantage of the fact that she’s got a weirdly level abdomen by using her as a coaster for your mug of hot cocoa.

“You really thinking of quitting?”

She turns away from the TV long enough to blink at you.

“Maybe. I don’t know if I love it enough still to keep playing through the injuries.”

“Maybe you’ll find your love for it again.” When she grimaces, you continue.”It’s like in Mighty Ducks. Gordon didn’t love hockey anymore, but then he fucked up and had to do community service and then he loved it again.”

“Are you saying I should do something to warrant having to do community service?”

“No.” It’s your turn to shrug. “Maybe volunteer for a program or something to do with kids, though.”

“I hate kids.” Carmilla says like it’s a reflex.

“But you love hockey and they love hockey.” You nudge her knee and she glares. “Come on. I’ll even help you find where to volunteer. It’ll be fun.”

“Laura.” She whines when you pick your mug up - it’s the one you’d given her for Christmas and when you had claimed it she’d said _but that’s my favourite_ without thinking and it had made your heart beat stutter - and stand.

“Don’t be a baby. It’ll be good for your resumé too. And free ice time! No need to sneak into the rink at night with Kirsch.”

“But I like sneaking into the rink at night with Kirsch.” She mumbles, but follows you to the kitchen table where she keeps her laptop anyway. “Fine. Whatever. One condition, I’m _not_ volunteering with small children.”

//

Carmilla ends up volunteering at a hockey day camp at the local arena with kids between the ages of three and six. Small children.

She grumbles and gripes about it the entire time the night before the week-long, nine-to-five camp even starts and not even a Canadiens victory betters her mood.

“Can’t believe you talked me into this.” She says as you’re putting your shoes on to leave her for the night.

“I’m like, 98% sure you’re going to thank me for this one day.” You respond. “Also, I didn’t do much _talking you into it._ ”

The next morning, you wake up to your phone buzzing on the ground where you’d left it the night before.

**Carmilla [8:30 a.m.]**

I am in HELL.

**Carmilla [8:30 a.m.]**

One of them has already drooled all over me.

**Carmilla [8:31 a.m.]**

I HATE you.

You laugh and respond by sending her a picture of your running shoes.

**Laura [8:32 a.m.]**

going for a run soon

**Laura [8:32 a.m.]**

gotta enjoy it while you’re not here to hold me back

**Carmilla [8:35 a.m.]**

Remind me to punch you in the face when I see you next.

//

The first time you run in the morning without Carmilla while she's volunteering at hockey day camp you think _why did I volunteer her for something that would take up the normal time I spend with her?_ and then you shake yourself out of it because that's a ridiculous thing to think.

The second time you go for a run without Carmilla, you can no longer deny that you miss her running beside you so you make a mental list.  
  
(You tell yourself that it's not a list of things you love about Carmilla.)  
  
(But it is.)  
  
1\. Her laugh.  
  
Her laugh is probably the best laugh you've ever heard and you've thought that for a long time so you're not even just saying it because she's your friend. It's a light laugh. A weightless little thing that floats out of her lungs without any effort. It's not bells or wind chimes, instead it's like a breeze on a hot summer day, an exhale, like Mother Nature saying _here, you deserve this._  
  
2\. Her hugs.  
  
You haven't hugged Carmilla often - which reminds you that you should be hugging Carmilla more and you curse yourself for the hockey camp taking up all your Carmilla time all over again - but the times that you _have_ hugged her have been enough for her to be established in your mind as a phenomenal hugger. It's like she knows which parts of your empty spaces she should fill with her warmth and she knows when exactly to hug you and where to rub your back without it being ticklish. Either she has a sixth sense or the two of you just fit perfectly. You're not sure which thought is more disturbing.  
  
3\. How she talks

Her diction, her vocabulary, how she swore in German that one time you tripped over a tree root while the two of you were running and she'd had to pull you back by your sleeve to keep you upright. How your name rolls off of her tongue.  
  
Crap.  
  
 _What are you doing?_ Friends don't think these things about each other.

(The rest of the list: the way she bites her lip, her hands, how soft her hair is, the column of her throat after she's knocked a shot back, how she genuinely cares about you, her sense of humor, the way she looks when she's just woken up after accidentally falling asleep with her legs on your lap, her intelligence, her resilience, the way she seems to have to rub her hand on her _knee to keep from touching you._ )  
  
Crap.  
  
Crap. _Crap. Crap._

//

On Friday, Jamie cancels on you because she has strep throat. You decide to walk over to the arena to see when Carmilla will be done with her day so the two of you can laze around on her couch like normal.

The community rink is smaller and warmer than the rink on campus. Judging by the number of parents you see crowded around the waiting area, the last day of day camp is almost done. You dodge through the crowd to get closer to the ice. The bleachers are cold, but you find that it’s more peaceful than sitting in a waiting area full of parents.

The kids are in the middle of what seems like a fifteen versus fifteen scrimmage that looks as chaotic as it sounds. Carmilla is in the middle of the whole mess, messy hair visible under her helmet, though you’d probably recognize her even without that particular visual aid. She’s wearing a black jacket and black skinny jeans. There are two other volunteers playing goal in street clothes. You’re glad that you don’t have to worry about Carmilla potentially taking a puck to the boob or something.

The play turns when one of the kids finally manage to take the puck from Carmilla - with some help from another camper who knocks her stick out of her hands - after a prolonged possession of her playing keep-away. You hear Carmilla’s indignant _Hey!_ from where you’re sitting and it makes you laugh.

It honestly looks like a lot of work. She goes up and down the ice, following the play and occasionally stealing the puck away from kids who don’t seem to want to pass to their teammates. Sometimes, she trails after the play, helping to push along any kids who fall behind. The scrimmage goes on for what feels like another hour and they do a massive cheer at the end that sounds like “timbits” before everyone starts skating off the ice. You hop down from where you’re sitting and make your way to the open end of the boards.

“Oh hey, good job, buddy.” Carmilla is saying as the line of children toddle past her and off the ice. “Nice goal today, kid. That backhand’s really coming along.”

She continues her string of praises, seemingly having one tailored for each kid. When the line ends, she finally looks up and spots you.

“Hey, Carmilla.” One of the other volunteers says just as Carmilla looks like she’s about to head in your direction. You swallow down a little bit of disappointment. “Phil’s still out there. You want me to bring him in and get the nets?”

“No, no, I can do both. Can you do me a favour, though?” She points towards you. “Can you grab her a pair of rentals?”

You try to protest, but The Other Volunteer is already walking away, nodding to himself and Carmilla’s already strapping her helmet back on to retrieve the little boy who keeps losing his balance every few steps. She skates over to him and they seem to have a conversation. Carmilla picks him up and sets him back on his feet every time he falls over.

It takes a while - The Other Volunteer comes back with your rental skates and you’re able to lace them up - before Carmilla and the little boy reach the end of the rink.

“You’re really getting quick, huh?” You hear Carmilla saying as you walk up to them. “That was way faster than all the other days.”

“I can glide little bits now.”

“That’s awesome.” Carmilla gives his helmet a tap with her glove and smiles at you over his head. “You gonna go to the dressing room now? My friend and I are gonna go for a skate and I don’t want to leave you out here.”

He doesn’t respond to her, choosing instead to turn his attention to you. “What’s your name, Carm’s friend?”

Carmilla mumbles, “It’s _Carmilla._ ”

You hold your hand out to the mass of hockey equipment peering up at you from under a helmet that looks twice the size of his head.

“I’m Laura. What’s your name?”

“Phil.” Phil says, bumping his fist against your open palm.

“Nice to meet you, Phil.” You get a brilliant idea and decide to capitalize on it. “Hey, do you think I can take a picture of you and Carm together?”

Phil nods enthusiastically while Carmilla groans. All the same, she pops off her helmet and taps her hand against the cage of Phil’s. “Take your helmet off, buddy.”

He drops his stick and shakes his gloves off before sticking his hands under his chin and beginning to undo the straps that are keeping his helmet on.

"Do you take selfies, Laura?” He asks, while Carmilla undoes one of the side straps carefully so as not to draw any attention to the fact that she’s helping him.

“Yep!”

“Then I think we should take a selfie.” Phil declares, dumping his helmet on the ground. “All three of us!”

Carmilla glares at you as if to say _look what you’ve done._

“Sure thing, Phil.” You set your camera up and hold it at an angle so that all three of you are visible. “ _Carmilla,_ smile.”

You take a few before saying one last goodbye to Phil - he wraps his arms around your left leg in farewell - and moving to stand next to Carmilla as the two of you watch him head to the dressing room.

“Is he the one that drooled on you the first day?”

“Fuck, I’d forgotten about that.”

You laugh until Phil is out of sight. When you’re done doing so, you notice that Carmilla has taken her jacket off and piled it on the ground next to her gloves and stick. She’s also wiping the inside of her helmet with her shirt.

The motion makes the fabric rise at her hips and you’re mesmerized by the small glimpse you get of her toned midsection for a few seconds before you force yourself to look away. She calls your name and hands you the helmet a moment later.

“So we’re really going for a skate then?”

“What, you think I made you put skates on for no reason? ‘Course we are.” She leads you to the gate that opens to the ice. “Tighten the strap.”

You follow instructions.

“I haven’t done this in a while.” You tell her as she steps out onto the ice. “I might fall over.”

“As if I’d let you fall over, Hollis.”

You trust her, so you step carefully out onto the surface and immediately grab for one of Carmilla’s hands. She laughs and takes your hands in hers before beginning to skate backwards, pulling you along into a lazy glide.

“You had fun, didn’t you?” You can’t help yourself from asking. “You totally had a Gordon Bombay moment with those kids.”

“Whatever.” Carmilla says, rolling her eyes. “School’s cheaper if I’m on the team anyway.”

“Quack.” You say, smiling. She sticks her tongue out at you.

You and Carmilla do two more laps around the rink in the same relaxed pace. She asks about your day and invites you to go to Starbucks with her after skating, promising to buy you a cookie. By the third go-round, she’s sped up considerably and you are so completely unprepared for when she lets go of your hands and leaves you to glide by yourself that you scream a little bit. Carmilla laughs, but does apologize when you crash into her, propelled by the momentum, a few metres from where she left you behind. You hug her to you.

“Don’t do that again.” You tell her in the most serious voice you own.

“Promise.” She says, untangling herself from you and taking your hands again. “Scout’s honour.”

She doesn’t let go of your hands until the Zamboni driver smacks _his_ hands on the glass and yells at you both to leave.

//

As she’s driving, you swipe through the pictures you had taken earlier on your phone. You pick  one in which you’re smiling nicely at the camera while Phil and Carmilla pull goofy faces in the background and make it your phone wallpaper.

You try not to think too much about it.

 

* * *

 

You get a small envelope in the mail one week after Will’s birthday.

The address is unfamiliar but you place it somewhere just outside of Styria, in those pretentious suburban mansions where all the big business owners of your little college town seem to live in.

A key falls to the floor when you rip open the paper and a small note almost follows its path, but you manage to catch it in your hand before it does and when you unfold it there’s only a few lines staring back at you, but you can’t help but think that those lines mean more than full-pages filled with words ever could.

_30 minutes away now. For good._

_Just let yourself in._

_Mattie._

//

You spend the entire day thinking about that key and what it represents.

It’s been eight days and you still can’t really wrap your mind around the events of last week. In truth, you expected everything to go _horribly_ wrong. Considering the way your life had been for the past few years, it really wouldn’t have been that much of a stretch. You thought life would throw another curveball at you.

And, well, that’s exactly what happened.

Only you couldn’t be more glad that it did.

In a way, you’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things have been so ridiculously good lately, you think it’s natural to be wary of that. Last time things had been _that_ good you ended up with your knee bent at an awkward angle and your head bleeding against the ice.

You try to think of other things, but your brain keeps rushing back to peak points and subsequent descents and you think you’ve already gone through that last year so it really can’t be any worse, but you know that you can’t just keep rising forever. You know that eventually you’re gonna reach the top and everything is gonna go down from there and you think of Laura and hockey and school and your family and you know _something’s_ gotta give, but you don’t know _what._

It’s probably selfish, but you just want to have it all.

//

You spend thirty minutes with your head pressed against the cold tiles of your shower stall as the hot water burns through your skin and you try to focus on the good things, instead of the bad.

There’s no denying that you’re a pessimist. You’ve seen too much, _gone_ through too much. It’s naive to think that the world is always rainbows and sunshine, much as you try to believe that.

(And you haven’t, not really.)

But in the middle of everything, the turmoil raging inside of you, you think of Laura and things just slip away for a moment. You think of her tiny self sitting on your couch with her legs curled under her or her arms thrown over your thighs and you try to understand how you’ve reached a point where your days are filled with Laura, Laura and _Laura,_ but you can’t. You haven’t found that many equations you couldn’t solve in your life, but no matter how you go about this one, you just can’t make sense of it.

And it’s not bad. God, it’s not bad at _all._

You think of leaning against your kitchen counter, taking lazy gulps from your beer as Laura sits in front of you and rambles on and on about her day or the latest match her favorite team played or even the shenanigans her teammates have been up to this summer and you can’t help but think that it’s the best way you could possibly been spending your free time.

Without your consent, your mind flashes back to one day back on your sophomore year of high school where you made fun of Laura over something related to the world cup playoffs, though you can’t really remember what.

The details are fuzzy in your brain, but you do remember the feeling of satisfaction that took over you when you saw Laura getting flushed as she spit out angry words at you. You can remember clearly how her nose scrunched up and her eyebrows furrowed together and she couldn’t stop blinking at you as she tried to make sense of the words going through her brain long enough to throw them at you.

You’d made a point to annoy her ever since then.

A part of you always justified that as your need to put Laura in the place where she belonged; to knock her off the high horse she seemed to be perpetually riding.

You realize now you just wanted her to pay attention to you.

And you could’ve gone about that in such better ways.

(The thought that you and Laura could’ve been friends for years makes a sharp pain go through your chest.)

(But maybe you couldn’t. Maybe things happen when they’re meant to happen.)

//

Laura takes five minutes longer to get to your house after her session and you already have your phone in hand to text her about her whereabouts when the doorbell rings and you open your door to find her standing on the other side of it.

You don’t know why she even bothers to do that anymore; it’s not as if the door isn’t unlocked and it’s not as if you’re not waiting for her. You can’t remember a day in the last week when she hasn’t been around and your mind fleetingly considers the idea of just handing her a key - because what the hell, right? Kirsch has one (for emergencies only, though he seems to be unaware of the meaning of the word), so it wouldn’t really be a big deal. It would certainly make both your lives easier.

That’s a thought you file for later, though, because Laura doesn’t waste any time in dropping a bomb at you and it’s like you can feel the way your muscles relax from the smile that was taking over your face when she asks if you want to have dinner at her house.

It’s not as if things have been bad with Coach Hollis, not really. They’re just not _anything,_ really. You know he’s been attending all of Laura’s games and you’ve heard stories of Sunday dinners and father-and-daughter bonding time over football matches, but the fact that Coach seemed to have realized he was screwing up doesn’t change the fact that he is an adult in a position of power over you and you’d been disrespectful to him.

You can own up to your mistakes. He was being an asshole, yes, but maybe it wasn’t really your business to call him off on that.

And maybe there had been a reason why you didn’t tell Laura about what you did in the first place.

But with the invitation out there and Laura staring at you all wide-eyed, with questions swimming in her eyes, you find that you can’t really keep this to yourself anymore. You don’t _want_ to, really. Your friendship has been growing more and more each day and you realize that you want to be able to be honest with her. If you keep this to yourself now, there’s no telling what else you’ll hide from her in the future. And you don’t want to hide anything at all.

You try to lighten things up by making a stupid joke and it backfires when you notice how shifty Laura is. You wonder for a second if it’s good to come clean about your actions, but there’s really no coming back. It’s upsetting, but if she’s gonna be pissed at you, it might as well happen now than over something worse later.

And judging by the way she’s acting, you think that she might.

Laura downs her glass of orange juice and you wrack your brain for a moment when you’ve seen her acting so weird around you, but you can’t really find it. It’s not her usual ball of excitement but it’s not her annoyed self either. It’s not the obsessive behavior she often displayed at the beginning of your friendship, when she’d go on her reckless runs and yelled at you when you tried to help her.

No, it’s something completely different. It looks a bit like her distraction over her calculus equations mixed with the wandering eyes she usually reserves for parties full of girls walking around in sexy clothes and it doesn’t make sense for you because _what the hell?_

You’ve been nursing a bit of a cold for the past week and you woke up with a small migraine but this is only making it a thousand times worse.

It’s probably best if you ignore it.

Thankfully - or not - Laura decides it’s time to question you again about your hesitance to attend dinner at her place and you decide you might as well dive head-first into it, because that’s not something you’ll be likely to get over anytime soon.

Of all the ways you imagine that conversation to go, Laura throwing her arms over you and crying against your shoulders is not one of them. You do your best not to think of the way Laura’s body just seems to fit against yours - pressing in all the right ways and filling all your curves with her own, as if you’re part of a puzzle that someone has been trying to put together for the longest time and just now managed to find the right pieces.

And, _fuck,_ you’re such a cliché but you don’t want to let go of her ever again.

(But you don’t let Laura know that, of course.)

(You wonder what it means; the fact that the safest you’ve ever felt in your life is with her arms wrapped around you.)

//

You lead Laura to your bedroom and you climb on a chair to get the box you made sure Kirsch pushed to the very back of your closet.

She’s watching you with wide eyes and a look of poorly disguised curiosity and you’d be annoyed if it were anyone else, you’re sure, but you’ve learned over the past ten months that everything seems to shift on its axis when it comes to Laura - your feelings, in particular, seem to be especially good at that.

It takes a few tries before you can get to the box. Though things have changed a lot in the past week, the thought that you might be opening this particular can of worms hadn’t even crossed your mind, especially not when you woke up this morning.

Laura has made herself comfortable on the right side of your bed and you ignore the voice in your head that tells you she seems to belong there - curled against your pillows, holding one of them to her chest.

“Here goes nothing.” You sigh to yourself as you drop the box on your bed and you take your place next to Laura.

She glances from the box to you and bites her lower lip (you try not to focus on that, but you fail), “I know I asked,  but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to do that.”

You’re quick to shake your head. It’s weird, but you actually _do_ want to tell Laura everything. In fact, you’ve never wanted so much to share your story as you do right now, and this brings a weird feeling to your chest. You told Kirsch things because Kirsch has been around for a while and he’s shown time and time again that he’s not going anywhere.

But Laura? Things with Laura still seem so fleeting. Just a few months ago you couldn’t stand to be in the same place as her, and now you’re ready to share the most intimate things about yourself, even more so than you shared with someone who you’ve considered your best friend for the past couple years.

It’s weird and yet it feels so _right._

(You hate that she’s got such a tight hold on you.)

(Except that you don’t, not really.)

You open the box.

“You know, uh, my parents died, right?” You ask her, and you know Laura understands that this is your way of letting her know you’re going through with this. She nods, and you continue. “My mother died and then my father remarried and then he died and left my custody to Maman.”

The word tastes bitter on your tongue and you try not to think of all the days you spent with skates on your feet and blades gliding against the ice as you wished for your parents to be alive again and your life to just be _good._

“Maman was-” you swallow hard and you shake your head. You’re not gonna allow yourself to be swept by these emotions, not after all this time. “Well, she was difficult to live with. But thankfully I wasn’t alone with her.” You find a picture inside the box and you hand it to Laura. “I had two foster siblings, William and Matska.”

The picture in Laura’s hand is of you, clad in your hockey gear, helmet falling on your face. Will is piggybacking on your shoulder and Mattie is standing just to the side, arms crossed and eyes narrowed but the hint of a smile on her face. You can remember the day as clearly as yesterday and it sends a warmth spreading through your body that you still managed to save so many good memories from a situation that was less than ideal for an orphan child.

“Mattie was a teenager when my Dad married Maman and Will came around just a little after he died.” You explain, handing another picture of the three of you to Laura. This time you’re all clad in pajamas and Mattie has toothpaste all over her face and she looks downright murderous.

Laura laughs, and you let yourself mirror the expression.

“I think I remember Will, actually.” She tells you, and you’re a bit surprised by this information. Will is a couple years younger and though he did go to the same high school as you, you didn’t really think someone like _Laura_ would notice that he’d even been there to begin with. “I didn’t know you were related, though.”

“Well, we’re not.” You point out.

Laura rolls her eyes at you, “You know what I mean, Carm.”

You nod your head towards her, “I do.”

She reaches for another picture before you can hand it to her so you push the whole box closer to her and you let Laura thumb through your history as you talk.

“We grew very close in the years after Will came around,” you continue. “I don’t think Maman was particularly fond of this development, especially considering how her relationship with Mattie and I was. We didn’t see eye-to-eye in many things, and by the time Mattie finished college and I was ready to come to Silas, things just got out of hand.”

The memories seem to go through your mind like a movie and you try to focus on the ones that are relevant to your story. There’s a danger that tears might be spilled if you dig too deep and you don’t really need that right now. Things are hard, for the most part, but they’re not that bad anymore. And that’s what you need to Laura know.

That despite everything, it does get better.

“You see, Maman was just always very controlling.” You almost want to snort at that, really. Controlling is a very nice way to put it. “And when things didn’t go her way… Well, she wasn’t happy.”

Laura looks at you then, worry over her eyes.

“Did she ever-”

“No,” you rush out, shaking your head. “That was not the way she did things. But she’s always been very good at taking away what we cared about the most so that we could be obedient little children.” You reach into the box and you pull a picture of your high school graduation. “That’s the last day I saw Will and Mattie.”

She gasps, “The _last?_ ”

“Before last week.” You clarify, and Laura furrows her brows in confusion. “When I graduated, Maman wanted me to go to some fancy business school and then law school. Mattie had done that, but she actually had a knack for it. I’ve never had. I wanted to play and I wanted to explore the way our world could be explained through mathematical equations and philosophical thoughts and I wasn’t about to let Maman dictate the way I lived my life.”

A sigh escapes your lips as you remember the argument that stemmed from that. And everything that you lost once you made the decision to live your life as you wished.

“She sent Will to some boarding school that looked more like a prison and made sure I couldn’t see him.” You let out a bitter laugh, your brain rushing to the years you spent wondering how your brother had been. “And when he was supposed to be home she just took him travelling around the world. And Mattie. Well, Mattie just took advantage of the fact that Maman’s attention was too focused on me and took off.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been that angry with someone.” You think of all the help she could’ve been and you try not to focus on that because things are supposed to be getting _better,_ but it’s still too hard. “And then last week I decided to just throw caution to the wind and find Will.”

“Is that why you were so restless?” Laura asks, setting down the photograph in her hand.

You run a hand through your hair, blowing out a breath. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

She seems to think for a moment, but then her hand finds yours and then your fingers are laced and she’s giving it a soft squeeze. “You don’t have to apologize for that, Carm. God knows I’ve done my fair share of snapping at you, eh?”

A chuckle escapes your lips. “I think we’ve snapped a lot at each other, actually.” You let your gaze fall to where your hands are linked together and this time, you’re the one who gives it a squeeze. “Anyway, I made Kirsch drive all the way there and when we got there, Mattie was waiting for me.”

You realize that you missed a bit of your story and you go back a little. “You remember that text I got that day we were studying for our finals?”

Laura nods, her cheeks growing red. “I thought it was some ex that had made you angry.”

“Not likely, cupcake.” You snort, and you can’t really understand why Laura’s shoulders seem to sag in relief after hearing this. “That was Mattie. And it was the first time she’d reached out to me in the last few years, so you can understand why I wasn’t too happy with it.”

“But she made up for it, in a way.” You shrug. “She got me in to see Will and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved as I did in that moment, not even when I managed to take my first few steps after the accident.”

The mention of the accident seems to get Laura on edge, but you run your thumb over her hand and you’re glad when she relaxes again, this time leaning against your side, head pressed to your shoulder.

The feeling of her warm breath against the side of your face is the most distracting thing you’ve ever felt in your life, but you take a deep breath and you focus on finishing your story.

“It was only a few hours but I wouldn’t change it for the word.” You tell her and you can’t fight the smile on your face. “Mattie and I had a really ugly argument - you can even ask Kirsch - but in the end, I guess, you can’t really change what happened in the past. And she seems willing to make amends, and I’m willing to accept that.”

“Your father is trying to make amends, cupcake. The question is, are you gonna let him?”

When Laura presses a kiss to your forehead, you try to tell yourself that the churning in your stomach is just nerves and not butterflies going insane at the feelings of her lips touching your skin.

//

You decide that you might as well do dinner.

After sharing everything you’ve shared with Laura, you don’t think you’re gonna be gone from each other’s lives anytime soon - or at least you _hope_ \- so you might as well apologize to her father and make things easier for Laura, not to mention a lot less awkward for all the parts involved.

You try your best to make things go as smoothly as possible, and for a while, you think you succeed. Laura hasn’t left your side since you stepped into the house and you’re not really looking forward to fumble your way through an apology to her father when she’s watching, but you’ll do so if it comes down to it.

Not surprisingly, you manage to stick your foot in your mouth before it even comes to that, and you try not to flinch at the way Laura’s eyes snap to you when you mention the idea of maybe quitting hockey.

It’s not a done deal, not by a long shot, but it _is_ something you’ve been considering ever since your accident and the months of recovery after that. It would be a lie to say that you’re not better, because you _are_ \- your knee can hold the weight of your body just fine and you haven’t felt dizzy in months - but you wouldn’t be honest if you said that it’s the same as it was before. Because it isn’t. You might be better, but you’ve been broken once and you know that you can never completely recover from that.

The cracks will always be there, and you’re the one who has to stare at your reflection in the mirror everyday and try to tell yourself that they don’t make you any less than what you are, but deep down you know that they _do._ And is it worth it, really, to be picking yourself apart like that just for the sake of winning a few more championships? Not to mention the fact that you know you can’t get any better, but you sure as hell can get _worse._

Where to draw the line?

You wish you knew, but you really don’t.

And Laura looking at you - a mix of confusion and disappointment of her face - doesn’t make it any easier for you to figure that out.

Thankfully, you manage to steer the conversation back to hockey - a safe zone, ironically enough - and when Laura finally excuses herself to take the dessert from the fridge, you turn to her father, trying to find the quickest way to apologize.

“I wanted to apologize to you, Coach.”

Well, might as well go with the obvious choice.

He seems amused by these words. “Apologize? I think that would be a first.”

“Yeah, well.” You wave your hand around, as if to say _whatever,_ because you know that you haven’t been the easiest to deal with in all the years he’s coached you. “Normally I wouldn’t, but I realize it wasn’t my place to snap like I did. But I care about Laura and - honestly, I’m only apologizing because I know it’s the right thing to do, but I would do it all over again if I had to. So, uh, sorry. Except not really. Maybe I could’ve gone about that better, but you know.”

He seems to be even more amused at your word-vomit and you hate that you’ve reduced yourself to this, but you remind yourself that you’re doing this for _Laura,_ not for him. So you power through it.

“I care about her too.” He says, after a moment.

You’re glad Laura seems to be fighting with the lid of tupperware container where your dessert seems to be stashed because this is taking a bit longer than you’ve planned.

“I know you do, Coa-”

“No, you don’t.” He interrupts you. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have yelled at me. And I’m glad you did, Carmilla. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, but I needed someone to call me out on that so that I could actually get my head out of my ass - pardon my words. And, honestly, I wouldn’t expect any less of you.” Your confusion must show through your face, because he continues. “I’ve seen how loyal you are to the things that are important to you. And I can’t tell you how glad I am to know that Laura is one of these things.”

You feel your throat clogging at the meaning of his words and you want to say something, _anything,_ but Laura is slipping into her seat before you can do that.

She looks between you both, eyebrows raising slightly. “Did I miss anything?”

Her father is quick to shake his head, a smirk on his lips. “Karnstein just can’t handle someone calling bullshit on her precious Habs, apparently.”

With a headshake to focus on the conversation again, you manage to roll your eyes at him, “Said the guy who roots for the freaking _Maple Leafs._ ”

When her father leaves to watch something on tv and leaves you alone with Laura, you try to think of a time when you’ve felt that comfortable in someone else’s house and you completely draw a blank.

You joke about the Laura liking you and you don’t meant it as anything more than friends like each other, but you can’t help how _happy_ you feel when she rolls her eyes at you and you completely see through the act.

That night, you go to bed with the thought of Laura Hollis liking you and when you wake up the next day the smile on your lips is wider than when you fell asleep.

//

It takes two weeks for Laura to bring up the subject of you quitting hockey again.

(You’re honestly surprised she lasted that long, really.)

It’s another day of lazing around with Laura and you’re really growing to enjoy these moments more than anything else the two of you do during your summer days - which is actually not a lot, but _still._ You don’t want to think there’s gonna come a time when you’ll have to go back to classes and practice and you won’t find Laura’s forgotten jerseys draped over your kitchen chairs or her books stacked close to yours on your living room floor - courtesy of the nights you both spent eating chinese takeout and cramming for finals.

“Maybe. I don’t know if I love it enough still to keep playing through the injuries.” You tell her, and you’re sticking to your resolution of being honest to Laura.

You love hockey, you _do._ It’s been your life for a long time, your safe haven in a world that was less than fair to you, but you’re not really surprised that something happened to potentially take that away. The thing is, though, that you don’t really feel as if a part of you has been taken away. You did, at first, right after the accident when the idea of never playing again was looming heavy over your head, but it’s not about that anymore.

You _can_ play. You’ve managed to face your demons and you’ve defeated them and you know that you’re better for it, just as you know that hockey doesn’t _define_ you anymore. Once upon a time you thought that you wouldn’t have anything left if that was ever taken away from you, but now you know better. And you find that maybe if you focus on other things, it wouldn’t be the worst idea.

Besides, it’s better to go out while you’re still able to play than stick around to see your body fail you once again; this time for _good._

But then Laura is using freaking _Mighty Ducks_ analogies against you - and, as a good hockey player, that’s one of your favorite movies so it’s not even fair - so you decide you might as well go for it. At this point, you have nothing to lose, really. And it’s better to consider all your options before you do something that you might regret in the future.

You’re not volunteering with little kids, though. Absolutely _not._ You need to draw a line somewhere and this is it.

No kids.

Anything but kids.

//

It should come as a surprise that you end up volunteering with the goddamn _toddlers,_ but it really doesn’t.

It doesn’t because Laura is the one who helped you pick a hockey camp and you’ve realized lately that you have a really hard time saying no to Laura. And usually, this isn’t a bad thing. You can deal with ice cream runs and late night phone calls because she can’t sleep after watching horror movies - even though she was the one to pick them in the first place - or even the endless hours you’re subjected to football matches after football matches, but _toddlers?_

That’s low, even for someone like Laura Hollis.

//

When you get to the rink the next day, the place is already buzzing with goddamn _loud_ kids even though camp day doesn’t officially start for another half hour.

The person responsible for the whole shenanigan is your high school coach and he drags you out to meet the kids as soon as you step on the ice and they’re all so _excited_ that you’re not even surprised when a few of them lose their footing and end up face planting on the ice before 9am even rolls around.

One kid in particular can’t seem to be able to let go of the boards and when you move over to help him he _drools_ all over your arm and God help you - you might actually punch someone before this is over.

(Most likely Laura. Because she’s the one who talked you into this in the first place.)

So you text her and you tell her that.

It’s not a surprise that she doesn’t read too much into your threat.

//

As it turns out, the kids aren’t so bad.

Yes, they’re still loud and they drive you so crazy the first day that the only thing you manage to do when you get home is grunt a few words at Laura before you fall asleep with your legs thrown over hers, but after a couple days you manage to figure out what makes them tick and things go smoothly from there; sort of.

The thing is - you can _see_ yourself in those kids. You see how their eyes shine whenever they manage to hit the puck in just the right way or when the buzzer sounds after the rubber disc hits the net and you can’t deny that you understand the exhilaration that goes through them because it’s the same one you’ve felt for so many years, since you’ve put on your skates and wrapped your hand around your stick for the first time.

You remember how free you felt when you skated from one side of the rink to the other for the first time, and though most of these kids can’t even do that yet, you know that just a step in the right direction means the world to them, and here you are, helping them achieve just that.

It’s a weird kind of feeling. Laura probably didn’t mean for you to get this emotional about it when she first suggested that you done this, but you think it has served its purpose, in a way. Because you didn’t know that you still loved hockey like this. But seeing these kids skating around on wobbly legs and a mess of hockey gear, you realize that you’re not ready to quit just yet.

Things might never be the same again; in fact, you know they won’t. And you know that you can live without playing competitively if it need be, but you can’t _quit._ Not completely. Not when putting on your skates and helping other kids realize they can do the same makes you feel so good.

Maybe there are ways to still love something even when it has hurt you beyond repair.

//

**Laura [12:30 pm]**

how much are you hating camp today?

**Carmilla [12:45 pm]**

There’s been no drooling and no kid running over my feet with their skates, so not much, actually.

**Laura [12:30 pm]**

see! told you that this was a good idea

**Carmilla [12:45 pm]**

Yeah, whatever, Hollis.

You pocket your phone just as one of the kids drops next to you on the stands where you’re quietly eating your lunch, a frown on his face as he continuously tries to push his overgrown hair off his eyes long enough to actually see you.

“Might be time to get a haircut, buddy.” You tell him, pushing your food aside. “What if you trip and fall on the ice because of it?”

Phil crosses his arms and juts out his chin at you, “ _Your_ hair is long.”

A laugh escapes your lips at this because - well, kid’s got a point.

“Touché.” You let your gaze fall to the ice where all the other kids are already getting back from lunch and - not for the first time - you try not to shudder at the thought of one of them spilling their guts out on the rink. You’ve reached a sort of agreement with the other volunteers to keep the exercises light a couple hours after lunchtime because you’re already volunteering with kids, you don’t need to be cleaning off their puke as well.

Enough is enough.

“Come on.” You pat your leg and Phil throws you a confused glance. “Let’s lace these skates. You’re already pushing your luck with the hair.”

Phil rolls his eyes at you, but he throws his leg over yours anyway and watches carefully as you pull on the strings of his rentals. He can’t really do the knot by himself yet, but you’ve been working on it for the last couple of days and he’s already much better at it the he was when camp first started, where he just pushed the strings inside and hoped for the best.

(It goes without saying that he didn’t have much luck with that.)

Though you’ve come to realize that the kids aren’t that _bad,_ you can’t deny that you’ve taken a particular liking to Phil, the four year-old that knew everything about hockey. Well, at least in theory, because in practice… Well, not so much.

The first time Phil fell flat against the ice your mind flashed back to the time when you were just a little older than him and your father took you to the frozen lake behind your house and announced he was gonna teach you how to play hockey.

It had been a disaster.

You ended up with a swollen bump on your forehead and your father took you crying to your mother, but the next day you woke up and you asked him to take you skating again and that went on and on for days on end until you finally managed to keep yourself standing on two blades.

There had been no giving up back then. And watching little Phil do the same, you realized that there should be no giving up now either. Not with something that you loved as much as hockey.

You didn’t think a kid would be the one to make you realize that. Especially not a little shit like Phil - who’s freaking named after _Phil Kessel,_ for fuck’s sake - but apparently life is not done throwing curveballs at you.

And it could be worse, really.

You’ll never admit this to Laura - never, not even on your grave - but you’ll miss these kids after the week is over.

//

Laura shows up on the last day of camp and Phil is as nice to her as he isn’t to you and you kind of want to smack that kid over the head because, _rude._

You’re the one who’s been devoting extra time to help him skate and yet Laura is the one who gets all the smiles and polite treatment that you’ve always been sure his parents had taught him but he apparently threw out of the window when it came to you.

And no - that’s not one of the reasons why you got so attached to him. Not at all. Never.

(But maybe it is a bit.)

Laura decides to take a picture and, though you protest, you’re secretly glad about this. It’s been only a week but you don’t want to say goodbye to Phil and you think that having a reminder of everything you’ve been through with the kids and still add _Laura_ to it is as good a deal as you’re gonna get, so though you huff and you puff you still smile when Laura tells you to because - fuck, you’re happy.

You’re so fucking happy it’s ridiculous.

//

When Laura falls over you and hugs you to her, you try to tell yourself that this is a regular thing between friends and you don’t think of the way you just feel so complete when she’s this close to you. You certainly don’t think of how you might’ve been half for all your life and now you’re whole, that all you’d be missing was her.

Eventually the hug is over, but you keep a tight grip on her hand for as long as you can.

Truth is, you’re not ready to be incomplete again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You just got through something like 11k words, so I'd go for a walk if I were you. Thank you for giving us your time!


	12. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hollstein through the eyes of Kirsch, Danny, LaFontaine, and Perry. Set between the events of June and July.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this little story hit 2k kudos a while back and we're so very grateful for everyone who's read, commented, left kudos, or flailed with us in our tumblr ask boxes. Honestly, we're always overwhelmed by the response to each chapter. Thank you guys so much.
> 
> Also a special thanks to Kaitlyn, Caitlin, and everyone who's helped us keep making sense. Thanks for always giving us your time!
> 
> Have this as a token of our appreciation!

Sundays are usually the day when you can sleep past noon without feeling guilty about missing classes and you kinda always make a point of taking advantage of that because what the hell, right? Sleeping is _good._

Except that now you’re on summer break and summer break means that you get to sleep past noon _everyday,_ so everything just blurs together and you don’t even know whether it’s a Sunday or a Wednesday and it doesn’t really change the fact that you really, _really_ like sleeping, but it does kinda take away the excitement a bit because it’s not really something you’re looking forward anymore.

That’s kind of a dumb logic, you think, but it’s the only one that you can use to explain the fact that you’re out of bed before 9 AM on the day that you might as well have made holy for your beauty sleep.

(And it _is_ beauty sleep, because a face like yours doesn’t just stay like that without you taking care of it.)

But the point is - well,  you’re not in bed. And you could be, yeah, but it would be kinda pointless because you didn’t get more than two hours of sleep the night before. This has _never_ happened. Like, ever. People in your classes always talked about going sleepless to cram for exams and you could never wrap your mind around that. You even tried once - drank a whole can of Monster and everything - and it just _didn’t work._

Sleep, dude. Probably your favorite activity in this whole world.

(Well. Other than sex. And hockey. Because those were pretty awesome too.)

That was all before yesterday, though. When you finished eating your pizza, took off your shirt and got into bed with some old hockey game on TV and sleep just didn’t come. Not after you tossed and turned and even took off your pants so that your legs wouldn’t be too hot.

Nope, nothing.

You closed your eyes and you tried to think of cool scenarios so that you’d be distracted and fall asleep but that only made shit worse because your brain suddenly decided it would be a good idea to think of ways of asking Danny out and - well, enough to say that this didn’t make your situation any better.

And it’s not really like you could just get out of bed and walk to the Summer Society house to go turn those scenarios into reality. You don’t think you would, anyway. But you did think of a lot of them. Too many. And it only made things worse that Danny would only go home to visit her parents at the end of summer and you’d be nursing stupid ideas about her until then.

The thought that you might not get to sleep for two whole months made you shake under the safety of your blanket.

So you decided to do the second best thing: you went to Carmilla.

She would know how to make things better, right? She had that whole thing going with Laura - whatever that was, anyway - and it didn’t seem to be making her lose any sleep so she probably could help you get yours back. You didn’t even spend that much time with Danny and you were already feeling the _effects_ of it, you couldn't imagined how she managed to be superglued to Laura 24/7 without going insane.

“How do you know when you like someone?” Is what you ask her when you find her sprawled on her couch, thankfully no sign of Laura anywhere.

She almost falls to the floor at the sound of your voice. "How the hell did you get in here?"

(Looking back now, coming here probably wasn’t that good of an idea to begin with.)

"You gave me a key." To illustrate your point, you jingle your keychain in front of her eyes.

"Yes, you dumbass." Carmilla says and you watch as she pushes her lips together in that way that lets you know she's about to smack you over the head if you don't move away from her soon. "For _emergencies._ "

Oh. Well. Good.

"This _is_ an emergency."

Not surprisingly, she doesn't seem to buy this. "How the fuck is this an emergency? And couldn't it wait until I was _awake_ at least?"

" _Dude._ It's like 9 AM. You always wake up early to go running."

Carmilla crosses her arms and glares at you. "Not the point."

And she's right. It isn't. You didn't come here to talk to her about her sleeping schedule. Though, now that you think about it, that's _exactly_ what you came to do here.

Huh.

Okay, focus. Danny. Liking someone. That kinda shit.

"Right. The point." You take a seat next to her. "How do you know you like someone?"

The second try isn't really much helpful and it only gets you an eye roll and a twist of her nose.

"How the fuck am _I_ supposed to know?"

For the first time since you walked through the door you stop to think of an answer to her questions. Because, knowing Carmilla, this has the potential to get very ugly, _very_ fast. You can’t say that it’s because she’s a chick because that would be, like, sexist or something and she’d probably smack you over the head for it. And you can’t say that it’s because of whatever it is that she has with Laura because that’d be probably meddling into her business and you know just how much she _hates_ people doing that.

Even though she totally has a thing with Laura. You’re 99% sure. It’s totally happening and it kinda hurts a little that she hasn’t told you about it yet. So maybe… Well, maybe if you drop some hints.

“Well, you’re dating, right?”

Carmilla’s eyes widen at you. “I’m _what?_ ”

Yes. Hints.

(Clearly you’re not that good at being subtle.)

But, well, might as well go for it now.

“Dating.” You explain. “You know,” you wave your hands. “Laura?”

And then a throw pillow is making its way towards you and hitting the side of your head before you can even think to duck.

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about, Wilson?” She growls, and wow - first name, _low blow._ “Laura and I aren’t dating, you idiot. We’re friends. Barely. If that.”

Hmm. Okay. _That_ seems like a lie. But it’s probably best if you don’t push it, so you decide to try another approach.

You scratch your hair for a moment and then you meet her gaze again. “Okay, not dating Laura. Sorry about that. But come on, _please_ help me out.”

Carmilla glares at you for another five minutes before her shoulders drop and she gets up from the couch. You watch as she walks to the kitchen, gets two beer bottles from the fridge and pops them open before walking back to you.

“Dude, it’s _9 AM._ ” You say as she hands you a bottle.

She shrugs and takes a sip of her beverage, “Whatever. I’m not having this conversation without alcohol in my system.”

That’s a good point. Besides, it’s not like things can get any worse for you, so what the hell, right?

“So?” You prompt, once you’ve taken a few gulps from your beer.

You wonder if it’s really considered drinking in the morning when you haven’t slept the entire night. It’s like that theory that it’s only another day after you’ve slept. Logic is really not your thing, but whatever. It’s Sunday, anyway. Might as well make it worth.

“I really hate being friends with you.” Carmilla sighs, and then her gaze focuses on the label of her beer and she completely zones out.

A good few minutes go by and you try to just focus on your drink when she doesn’t answer you. It’s probably good that you don’t know. Maybe just relaxing and taking a drink will be enough to make your brain shut up and let you get some sleep. It might not have been what you had in mind in the first place, but that was good too.

Maybe coming to Carmilla had been the right idea after all.

And then, to your surprise, she actually starts talking.

“Do you know how you get when you shoot the puck towards the goal and it hits the net and the buzzer sounds?” She asks, but she’s still not meeting your gaze and she doesn’t really wait for a reply - probably because she knows you know exactly what she means.

It’s one of the best feelings you’ve ever experienced in your life. The excitement and the exhilaration. The rush of blood that goes through your body and makes you feel as if your skin is live wire, electricity coursing through it. The adrenaline. The idea that, for one single moment, you’re the king of the world.

Yeah, you know what she means.

“I guess,” she continues after a moment. “I guess it feels like that, only all the time. Whenever you look at that person - it’s just, it’s like you scored a goal. It’s like everything is right and your life is perfect and nothing, _nothing_ can touch you. It’s like that first moment when your blades hit the ice and you’re sliding to the other side of the rink and you’re just going so fast that it feels like you’re _flying_ \- only you’re always feeling like that. Nothing can ever bring you down. Just one thought about that person and nothing else matters.”

She finally looks up at you and she looks as surprised at her words as you do.

“I guess that’s how you know.”

And then you think of everything she just said and you think of all the moments you’ve spent with Danny lately. It wouldn’t be that different from the time you’ve spent with Carmilla, in theory, except that it _is._ Because you don’t feel the way Carmilla just described when you’re hanging out with her or someone else, but you do when you’re with Danny. You didn’t even felt like that with SJ, though you enjoyed her company a lot and you still felt bad when things ended.

But you can’t imagine what life would be like without Danny Lawrence around. What _you_ would be like. And that’s a scary thought because what Carmilla just described to you feels fucking amazing, but it also sounds scary as _fuck._

The thing is, you _do_ feel like that. And you don’t think you could change it, even if you tried.

So you take another drink from  your beer and you look at Carmilla and you utter the words that you have the feeling are gonna turn your life upside down, _for good._

“I think I like Danny.”

And much to your surprise, Carmilla makes a confession of her own.

“I think I like Laura.”

Well, at least you’re both fucked.

 

* * *

 

You get to the rink before anyone else does.  
  
You'd expected it, it _is_ still summer and these workouts are more informal than anything. No one really needs to warm up before hitting the ice this early on - or this late? - in the season anyway.  
  
(Does the season end in May and start again in July or does it end in August and start up again in September? You can't decide.)  
  
The summer months tend to blend together oddly for people like you and your teammates whose lives are lived mostly within the 200 by 85 feet of ice and during the games in between the months of September and May.  
  
So you take a seat in the far corner of the dressing room and begin your routine of stripping the tape off your stick and then re-taping it before every practice. It settles you, gives your hands something to do and slows your thoughts enough so you can focus on hockey and hockey alone.  
  
And that's good because lately, there's been something in the back of your mind that just won't quit nagging at you no matter what you're doing. Or, more specifically, _someone._  
  
You want to blame Carmilla Karnstein for introducing you, but this disaster is so massive that even she can't possibly be the only one responsible.  
  
(And really, you like her, she's your friend, but her play in the defensive zone is like - Carmilla doesn't seem to understand defense, which is fine for her because she's not the last line of it, but _God,_ she's the laziest back-checker you've ever shared the ice with. You blame her for 50% of the goals that end up in your net, but she's responsible for about 80% of the goals that end up in the other team's net so you figure you can call it even.)  
  
But still, this Wilson Kirsch business that's been distracting you from important things has to be someone's fault. And it can't possibly be Kirsch's because nothing he does is attractive or even remotely intelligent enough for you to justify all the attention you've been giving him, right?  
  
Maybe Carmilla will at least know something that will help, considering that she seems to be completely at peace with Laura Hollis's presence in her life, which _how in the world did that even happen?_ You make a mental note to ask.  
  
As if she knew what you were thinking, Carmilla slouches into the dressing room, bag slung over her shoulder, sticks in hand. She's wearing a Silas University Men's Hockey sweatshirt that's clearly too big for her, jeans so ripped that you hope she didn't pay more than five dollars for them, a leather jacket, and a toque in Ravens colors that has _Hollis_ stitched into it.  
  
"Speak of the devil." You murmur under your breath.  
  
Carmilla makes a show of looking around the empty dressing room, "I see that you and all of your friends have been talking about me again."  
  
"Shut up, thirteen."  
  
She narrows her eyes and hisses half-heartedly in your direction, but bumps her fist against your shoulder all the same on her way to finding herself a seat.  
  
That sweater is so clearly Kirsch's and you can't help but stare as Carmilla pulls it over her head. You're not jealous because of Carmilla per se, but jealous _of_ her. Seriously, thinking about how much time she must spend with Kirsch is like a punch to the gut because you kind of want all that time to yourself.  
  
"Can you cut out the serial killer glare?"  
  
You turn your head back down at the sound of her voice, "Sorry."  
  
Carmilla grunts in response and you try to focus on taping your stick. The lack of conversation between you is punctuated by the sound that the tape makes when you're trying to tear it and the Velcro of Carmilla's gear. It's not usually like this, you used to be able to talk to her without thinking of her best friend.  
  
Well, one of her best friends.  
  
You kind of think he can be considered one of yours, too. And maybe something more, but there's no way you like him that way, right? That wouldn't make any sense. But then again, your whole friendship with him has made no sense at all.  
  
"How do you know when you like someone?" You ask Carmilla before you can chicken out. She looks up at you, bent forward at the hips, tying her skates. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights.  
  
"What?" She breathes out, seemingly unable to believe you'd asked the question in the first place.  
  
"When you like someone, how do you know?"  
  
She stretches back into her normal sitting position, skates left untied. There's this softness in her eyes that you're a little bit afraid of because it makes her look like -   
  
"You don't score goals." She says, frowning.  
  
"No." You agree and Carmilla leans back against the wall, toque still sitting pretty on her head. She sighs and rolls her shoulders.  
  
"You know in the off-season, when you haven't played in so long you forget a little bit how to skate? Do your hands ever get really itchy?" She asks, turning to you, her own palms face up on the lap of her hockey pants. "Like, in between your heart lines. In your palms?"  
  
You have no idea what she's saying, but you nod anyways because it's _Karnstein_ and honestly, she doesn't make any sense until whatever she's saying is over and done with.  
  
"And then you walk by someone playing street hockey or something and you're just dying to grab their stick out of their hands because it feels like you're gonna self-combust if you don't play right that moment, but you can't do that because that stick isn't yours and it's like, no one's really ready for the season yet and you should wait, so instead of doing the stupid thing and taking the stick, you just kind of get this itch in your hands and you have to ignore it?" The corners of her mouth turn up. Her phone buzzes on the bench beside her and she is distracted by it for a moment. When she looks back up at you, it's like she's in a daze. "If you feel the same way about them all the time as you do about hockey in the summer, that's how you know."  
  
"That makes no fucking sense, thirteen."  
  
"Neither does liking someone." Carmilla says just as the door opens and a group of your teammates walk in. She shrugs at you before turning to them. "You assholes are late."  
  
The other girls just laugh and cite the fact that no one set a time they had to be at the arena.  
  
"If I'm here before you, you're late." Carmilla says decisively before turning back to her skates.  
  
It's a flurry of activity then, of people arriving and conversations being held by people on opposite sides of the room. While you're just about to put your gloves on in preparation of heading out to the ice, you see Carmilla get up from where she's sitting.  
  
She takes a detour to get to the door just so she can pass by you and when she does finally pause in front of you on her way, she drops the sweatshirt in your bag from where she had been holding it behind her back.  
  
"Do me a favour." She says, tucking some stray strands of hair up under her helmet. "Return his sweater and ask him how he feels when he scores a goal. And then maybe tell him how you feel about hockey in the off-season even if it doesn't make sense."  
  
A lot of what she had been trying to say to you finally kind of clicks in your brain and all the pieces and whom they represent in her life and in yours becomes clear. It must show on your face, because she smirks and almost starts walking away until you reach out to punch her shoulder lightly.  
  
"You're going to grab that hockey stick, right?"  
  
She shakes her head.  
  
"Not even if I ask you to do it as a favour?"  
  
Another shake of her head, "Everyone has to be ready for the season to really start. I can be patient for something that matters that much to me."

 

* * *

 

You answer the ringing phone half-asleep and it’s only when Laura starts speaking that you truly wake up.

“I think I have a heart condition.” She says.

You get up so fast that it makes you a little bit dizzy.

“ _What?!_ Are you at the hospital? I can call Perry and we can be there - “

“No. No.” Laura’s breathing is shaky and you you can hear her feet shuffling against carpet. She’s pacing, probably. You know her well enough to know that her pacing is not a good sign. “I’m at home. I just - I got home and it won’t slow down and it was even worse at Carmilla’s, like, it kept skipping and we were just sitting on the couch and I’m worried - “

“I don’t think you have a heart condition.” You tell her, glancing at the clock on your bedside table - 3 AM, _Jesus_ \- and scratching your head. “In fact, Laura, I don’t think this is bad at all.”

“Oh, but it is!” She sighs. “I think it’s all the junk food I’ve been eating lately. I had, like, five large fries during finals week and I have at least half a cookie every time Carm and I go to Starbucks - Oh _God,_ LaF, what if I have like, a heart murmur or - it feels weird all the time and I sometimes get chest pains - “

“You do not have a heart murmur.” You turn your lamp on and settle back into bed, your back against the headboard. It’s been a while since the last time Laura called you in the middle of the night without crying. “When is this condition of yours the worst?”

“In the afternoons and evenings.” She answers promptly. “It was really bad tonight. I’m pretty sure Carmilla could feel how weird it was being when I was hugging her goodnight and I was having chest pains the whole time I was walking back to my house - do you think I _should_ go to the emergency room?”

“No. They’ll laugh at you in the emergency room.” You respond. Trust Laura to freak out over this, seriously, typical. But then again, you don’t think you’ve seen her let anyone get as close to her as Carmilla has in years and you can see why something like a crush can freak her out this much.

“I think my arteries may be blocked.”

“No.” You say again.

“How can you be sure? You have no idea how much junk food I’ve eaten in the past three months.”

“Because, Laur.” You’ll find this funny in the morning and _God,_ you’re going to tease her about this for probably the rest of your lives,  but right now you just want to be able to go back to sleep. “I think your heart condition has less to do with the junk you’ve been eating and more to do with whose junk you _want_ to be eating.”

She’s silent at the other end and you fight the urge to laugh.

“This is not usually how that feels.” She finally says.

“Nothing about you and Carmilla is _usual._ ”

She hums in response and you slide back down under your blankets. Pretty soon, you’re almost falling asleep even with the phone pressed against your ear. But then Laura says in this small voice, “LaF, do you - does it look like - do you think she’ll stick around for me?”

Your heart breaks at how unsure she sounds.

“She’s stupid if she doesn’t.”

“She’s really stupid, though. And annoying.” Laura laughs a little. “ _God,_ she’s so annoying and messy and snarky, but I don’t think - “

“You don’t think what?” You prompt her after she cuts herself off.

“I really want her to stick around.” Laura says. “I think it would be nice.”

“Okay.” You say.

“I don’t think I can handle it if she doesn’t.”

“Laura - “

“I should probably not put all my eggs in one basket.” She jokes. “Maybe the parties and the different girls were a better idea.”

“Laura.” You say, sitting up again. “ _That girl_ will follow you to the end of the world and back and we both know it. Give her some credit, the two of you have made it this far.”

There's silence and then she ignores you and breathes out, “Thanks for everything. I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“Yeah? How’s your heart?”

A beat passes. You can no longer hear her feet on the carpet.

“I don’t think it’s mine anymore.” She finally says.

And then she hangs up.

 

* * *

 

The Tupperware container feels warm against your skin as you balance it on your left hand and use the right one to knock against the door of apartment 307.

You shift on your feet and you glance up and down the hall, opening the lid on the container to check that the brownies you made for Laura survived the trip intact.

(They have, and you let out a sigh of relief at that.)

And then the door opens before you and you're suddenly face to face with Carmilla Karnstein.

"Can I help you?" She says, and you hear a _'Carm, who is it?'_ from inside the apartment right before Laura pops up behind her. You don't miss the way her hands immediately move to Carmilla's waist and her chin comes to rest on her shoulders, her feet balancing on the tip of her toes to make up for Carmilla's extra inches.

But, most of all, you _definitely_ don't miss the huge number 13 on the fading red shirt she's wearing and you know exactly which name you're gonna find on the back of that jersey once Laura turns around.

Which, well -  _that's_ an interesting development.

"Hey, Per!" Laura grins once she sees you and her lips seem to stretch even more once she notices the container in your hands. "Are those brownies? Please tell me those are brownies."

Carmilla's eyes seem to grow interested at the idea of baked goods and you watch with even more attention the way she moves her hands to cover Laura's in order to gently push her back.

"Would you like to come in?" She asks and you know from the funny look that Laura sends her that this isn't Carmilla being her usual self.

But you nod and you step into the apartment and Carmilla somehow manages to close the door and move to the kitchen without detaching Laura from her back and you can't help but wonder when they became two people who work so seamlessly with each other that it's almost as if they're a single entity.

You think back to the days when you and LaFontaine were still trying to deny what was happening between the two of you and it's as if you can feel the light going on on top of your head once you realize exactly what is happening between the two of them.

Or what they're still fighting, if you know Laura.

(And there's no question that you _do._ )

"I went by your house to drop these off and your dad told me that you were here." You tell them once Laura finally moves away from Carmilla to pop open the Tupperware container and grab a brownie.

She breaks off a piece of it and you don't even know why you're surprised to see her feed it to Carmilla, but you still kind of are.

You knew they were close, but until this moment you honestly had no idea _how close._

There's a million questions swimming inside your head and you just want to talk to LaFontaine so you can try and make sense of everything that's happening and there will probably be a considerable amount of baked goods in your house in the nearest future but the one thing that do know right now is how _happy_ you are for your friend.

"Oh my God, these are amazing." Laura says once she's finished sharing the piece of brownie with Carmilla and you're trying not to feel bad about witnessing something so intimate between them, but they're making it increasingly hard.

"She's right." Carmilla agrees. "You can definitely bring these over whenever you want, Ginger."

You're not even really offended by the nickname but you watch in fascination as Laura smacks her shoulder and narrows her eyes at her.

"It's Perry." She huffs, but she grabs more food and she starts feeding Carmilla yet again.

"Sorry." Carmilla says around a mouthful. "But yeah, feel free to make them all the time, _Perry._ I could base a whole diet on these things."

You smile at them and you try to decide if it's the compliment or their clear domesticity that has you doing that.

(It's probably both, if you're being honest with yourself.)

(They're so _adorable_ you kind of want to burst.)

"Well, dears, I will be sure to keep that in mind!" You tell them and then you point to the door because you think you've already imposed too much on what is clearly their private time. "But I'll be on my way now. I'm bringing a batch to LaFontaine as well."

Carmilla nods. "Uh, thanks again."

"Yeah, thank you so much, Per." Laura says, skipping over to you and wrapping you in a hug.

You can count on one hand the number of times she's initiated any physical contact with you over the last few years and you feel a little emotional at the idea that this might become a usual part of your relationship again.

"It's no problem, sweetheart. I'll see you later, okay?" You pull back and you press a kiss to her cheek and you wave goodbye at Carmilla before you let yourself out of her apartment and into the heat of a full-on Styrian summer.

As you walk to your car, you glance back to the window of the apartment you think is Carmilla's and your mind replays the last few minutes you've spent with the two of them. It all goes through your brain in crystal clear image and you can't help but wonder whether or not Laura realizes how in love Carmilla is with her.

But most of all, you wonder if your friend realizes how in love with Carmilla  _she_ is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!


	13. July - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka Laura is so in love no one can handle it anymore and Carmilla has realized that maybe maths wasn't the reason why she was so interested in Laura in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we start, we just want you guys to know that we love you. Thanks for reading!

You’re walking out of your shower one day after your run with Laura when you find Kirsch sitting on your bed, a ridiculously huge grin on his face.

His body seems to be _vibrating_ with something and you can't help but once again compare him to an overly excited puppy who can't seem to contain all of his energy inside.

"Do you have _another_ emergency?" You ask him, using your towel to dry your hair as best as you can. You'd have tried to make him get out if you thought it would work, but you've come to realize that your friendship is way past the point where you even manage to intimidate him anymore.

(You wonder if you ever did manage that at all.)

You only get further proof of that when Kirsch doesn't even blink as he jumps out of your bed and sweeps you in a hug. "I asked Danny on a date!"

He settles you down as you throw a punch to his shoulder, but you can't help the small grin that spreads on your lips at the sight of your idiot friend so happy.

Still, you're not about to get all emotional on him, best friend or not. "I'm glad you both managed to get your heads out of your asses."

Not surprisingly, Kirsch sees right through you.

"Hey," he says, hands cupping your shoulders. You hate that he's so freakishly tall you need to look up at him, but you also feel strangely safe staring up at his wide doe eyes. "You know this wouldn't have happened without your help, right?"

And you want to take credit for that, you do, but you know that this is all Kirsch and Danny. They might be stubborn idiots, yeah, but they're also braver than you know you'll ever be.

So, really, that's all on them.

"I didn't do anything." You assure him. "You two idiots just needed to stop being stupid about things."

Kirsch nods, and then - when he looks at you again - all the playfulness is gone from his gaze and you suddenly feel as if his eyes are boring into your soul.

He says. "Maybe it's time you stop being stupid too, bro."

And then he kisses the top of your head and drops his hands from your shoulders.

"Think about this, eh?"

He ruffles your hair and moves out of your room and you're too busy trying to wrap your mind around the idea of _Kirsch_ calling you out on your actions that you don't even notice he's gone until you hear your front door closing with a small thud.

This was not how you expected this visit to go.

//

**Beefcake [9:46 pm]**

what r u and laura doing for canada day?

**Carmilla [9:48 pm]**

I don't have any plans yet. I'd have to ask Laura if she does.

**Beefcake [9:50 pm]**

u mean u dont know?

**Carmilla [9:51 pm]**

That's what I meant, yes.

**Beefcake [9:53 pm]**

but do u really mean that?

**Beefcake [10:14 pm]**

bro????

**Carmilla [10:27 pm]**

Laura stole my phone. And ugh, whatever, no she doesn't have plans either.

**Beefcake [10:28 pm]**

cool! awesome! u guys wanna go watch the fireworks with danny nd i?

**Carmilla [10:40 pm]**

No, thank you.

**Carmilla [10:41 pm]**

yes we do!! :D

**Beefcake [10:42 pm]**

... did laura steal your phone again

**Carmilla [10:45 pm]**

Yes. Fireworks it is.

//

Laura shows up at your house with a food basket in her hand, a blanket under her arm and LaFontaine and Perry trailing behind her.

The last two are a surprise.

"I didn't know this was gonna be a party." You tell them as you close the door behind you and take the basket from Laura on your way to your car.

She glares at you and lets out a clipped _Carm, be nice_ but you don’t even pay attention to that because you’re too busy taking in her chosen outfit for the day. You don’t think anyone could make a striped red and white sundress look as good as Laura Hollis does and you’re kinda mad at her for it, because _this isn’t fair._

Your fingers are itching to touch her skin, to map out the freckles you can see on her shoulders and all the way down her arms. You want to find out if there are more, and where you’d find them. And it’s not even in a sexual way, not really. When Danny and Kirsch came to you for help you hadn’t thought much of the words you spilled, but now - whenever you look at Laura - they seem to be playing on a loop in your head, never letting you forget that you like her, you like her, _you like her._

This isn’t gonna end well.

“Fine, _sorry._ ” You say, deciding it’s better to push the thoughts of your _feelings_ for Laura away from your mind. You open the door to your car and once you’re inside, you nod to Perry and LaFontaine. “Ginger Squared. Nice of you to join us.”

LaFontaine rolls their eyes at you. “Oh, you really _are_ a bundle of joy, aren’t you?” They say, and your mouth immediately stretches into a smirk because any person who knows how to use sarcasm is a good person in your books.

You haven’t been around Laura’s friends a whole lot - despite the fact that you’re around Laura _all the time_ now, but you’ve noticed from the few times your path has crossed that they really _do care_ about her. And despite whatever differences you may or may not have, that’s really all that matters to you.

(When you became such a gross creature, you don’t know. Must be all the cookies you’ve been eating lately.)

“Kirsch said it would be okay for them to come along.” Laura informs you once she chooses whatever music she wants to listen today and slips your iPod back on its holder.

Her window is open, and when you glance at her the sunlight is reflecting on her hair and your words get caught in your throat because, in that moment, you’re sure - _you’re sure_ \- that angels are indeed very much real and you’ve got one sitting right next to you.

(God, you’re such a fool.)

You tighten your grip on the gear stick as you meet her gaze and you try your best to pretend you’re holding Laura’s soft palm against yours, instead of plastic and rubber. “Cupcake. You know I was just being a jerk.”

Laura rolls her eyes, but she bites her lower lip and you keep your eyes on her long enough to see the smile she tried to fight spreading on her lips.

Just as you focus your attention back on the road, Perry’s voice filters from behind you. “It really was quite lovely of him to extend the invitation to us.”

You don’t say anything, but you smile to yourself.

Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

//

When the fireworks start you’re laying on the blanket - which Laura brought so you could share, as you found out earlier - eyes completely trained on the sky above you.

It’s not that you even care that much about the celebration - in fact, you’d much rather be doing this on an empty field somewhere, where you could simply look at your favorite constellations without being interrupted by the explosions and colorful, nearly blinding lights. But the thing is - if your gaze wasn’t focused on the sky, you _know_ you’d be looking at Laura.

And you can’t do that.

You can’t do that because if you do, you know you’ll just throw caution to the wind and you’ll give in to the itching in your hand and you’ll grab that damn stick. You know you will. You like to talk a big talk, but you’re not nearly in control of yourself as you’d like to be, especially when you’re around Laura.

“Hey.” She says once a particularly intricate firework explodes on the sky.

A deep breath escapes your lips and, not for the first time in the last few hours, you wish that Kirsch and Danny weren’t so busy basically swallowing each other’s face or that LaFontaine and Perry hadn’t decided to go curl up somewhere closer to the show so that they _could better appreciate the chemistry behind this moment,_ as LaFontaine had so eloquently put before they disappeared among the crowd.

You’d never thought you’d give up on your moments alone with Laura, but it’s been growing increasingly hard not to ruin them lately and you just - _fuck,_ you don’t want to lose someone else in your life because you couldn’t make the right choices.

“Hey.” You finally breathe out, once you realize that not looking at Laura is not an option anymore.

(Has it _ever_ been, really?)

Before you know what’s happening, Laura’s fingers are slipping into yours and you feel her warm breath against your cheek right before her soft lips ghost against your skin.

“Happy Canada Day.” She says once she pulls back.

You hear another explosion in the sky but you’re disappointed to find out that, when you open your eyes again, the fireworks above you have nothing on the ones you saw behind your eyelids when Laura pressed her lips to your cheeks.

//

You watch on the screen as the players run from one side to the other - little red and white dots against a green field that are making you slightly dizzy, if you’re being honest with yourself.

Sighing, you let your head roll back against the couch and you find that even when you look at the ceiling, you can still see things moving and _what the fuck?_

“This is dumb.” You say, because it’s been a solid hour of these fools chasing a ball and then losing it just as they get to the goal, which is _huge_ and you can’t see how they even manage to miss it, really, and you’re annoyed that this is what Laura chose to do on your precious summer break when you could be doing far more interesting things.

(Except just _being_ with Laura is enough for you, but you don't dwell too much on that.)

Laura looks back at you - you try not to focus on the way that her oversized faded black jersey makes her look ridiculously adorable - and says, “You act as if you haven’t been to half of my games last season.”

The way her voice breaks tugs on your heartstrings - they _do_ exist, after all - and you’re reminded of her mother and her father and everything else that you’ve learned about Laura since the beginning of the year, and you have an urge to touch her, to let her know that you’re _here_ and that this is real and not just a fleeting pastime for you.

But you know that Laura is still putting herself together and acknowledging her insecurities is a surefire way to send her spiralling back into them, so instead, you roll your eyes and uses your left foot to poke her thigh.

“Ever thought that maybe I’m just that good of a friend?”

You watch as Laura’s eyes flicker from the screen where the referee just called a foul in favor of her team - or so you assume - to your leg, and then back at you, just as her lips split into a grin that has you wondering if maybe it’s possible for you to bottle that so that you can release it when the darkness gets too close to you.

But then you realize it doesn’t matter, really; if you have it your way, you’ll never be too far from her light.

“Look at you,” she says, ignoring your previous conversation. “Already using your leg to do no good.”

You flick your throw-pillow at her, because lately you’ve been realizing that Laura is a dork and each time she does something like this you’re reminded of the girl in high school who carried around a _Doctor Who_ binder and made constant references to shows like _Buffy, the Vampire Slayer_ and _Veronica Mars._

She doesn’t realize what she’s doing, or at least you don’t think so, which only makes it even more beautiful for you that, what is truly and simply _Laura,_ is slipping through the cracks of the mask she’s worn for so long.

“Focus on your game, loser.”

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she turns to fully face you and pushes herself closer, until she’s sitting between your extended legs and you can’t really ignore the way her proximity makes your heart beat faster in your chest and the words get stuck in your throat.

You can’t even crack a smirk, which, honestly, is _ridiculous._

“We can do something else if you’re not enjoying it,” Laura tells you, and you try not to close your eyes and let out a _really_ inappropriate sound when her hands move to grip your ankles and her thumbs start massaging your skin.

It feels as if your body is burning an inferno and her fingers are the point of origin.

Instead, you take a deep breath, and tilt your head to the side, “It’s not my fault you basically live and breathe a dumb sport, Cupcake.”

Laura narrows her eyes at you and her grip tightens, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. She huffs and you blow her a kiss, because she’s being too adorable right now and you just can’t help yourself.

Considering the way your skin is heating off under her palm and your body is _reacting_ to it, you think your actions could’ve been a lot more _drastic._

But it seems that Laura is intent on ending you tonight, because she pulls harder on your legs and somehow fits herself in the space between them.

You’re not ashamed to say you’ve had plenty of girls between your legs, but never quite like _this._

She pinches your thigh - the one that’s thrown over her - and when your gaze snaps to her, she points towards the screen, “Which team do we like?”

“The white ones,” you reply promptly, because you know it’ll piss her off. Sure enough, she pinches your thigh again. “Ouch, Cupcake. I’ve had knee surgery and painful months of recovery, you can’t do this to me.”

“ _Carmilla._ ” She gives you a look of disbelief, and you pull off your best innocent eyes. It doesn’t really work. “This is your _right_ leg.”

You can’t deny she has a point, but it doesn’t mean you have to acknowledge it. “I’m still traumatized.”

Laura gives you a pointed look, “Which team do we like?”

“The red ones,” you dutifully reply, crossing your arms against your chest. Maybe pulling your legs back would be better, but you like the idea of being able to just cross your ankles and keep Laura close to you. “Bayern München.”

She seems impressed that you actually managed to remember this. You want to point out that about eighty percent of the names behind the red jerseys are in German and your family is _from_ Germany, but you’ve already learned that Laura doesn’t retain a lot of information whenever she’s watching a football game, so you store this tidbit away for another time.

Laura shakes her head, pulling back her unimpressed gaze, “So, in what position does number nineteen play?”

You shrug, “How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

She pinches your thigh again, and you don’t want to like the idea of her leaving bruises in your body, but you sort of _do._ “Stop being such a jerk. Look at the screen.”

You don’t really need to look at the screen, though, “He’s a midfielder.” A heavy breath escapes your lips. “Like _you._ ”

This time, she _definitely_ looks impressed. Not that it stops her from picking up the throw-pillow you threw at her and chucking it back on your face, “You’re such an asshole.”

Pulling the pillow back, you give her a grin, “What am I an asshole for? Didn’t I pass your little quiz?”

“You did!” She throws her hands up in the air, and then she looks around - for something to throw at you, you assume. When she doesn’t find it, she pinches your thigh again. “Why are you calling it dumb when you know exactly what is going on?”

Using your legs, you pull her closer to you, “First of all, understanding something and thinking it’s dumb are two completely different things.” You use your toe to poke her stomach, not even fighting the smile that breaks on your lips as Laura squirms and slaps your thigh. “Second,” you continue, “I still don’t know what the _fuck_ is an offside rule, so you can’t really say I know _exactly_ what is going on.”

You poke her stomach again, and Laura glares at you, “See? If you were a nice person, I would happily explain it to you. But now you can just figure it out for yourself, I don’t care.”

Her lips are curled in a pout and she’s just so _cute_ that you can’t help but poking her again. She lets out a frustrated sigh and tries to slip away from your legs, but instead you lock them and pull them back, making the upper half of Laura’s body fall against your chest and then she’s basically laying on top of you.

It wasn’t intentional, but you actually _really_ like this position, so you wrap your arms around her and hold her in place. She’s squealing against you and trying to push you off, but once you press a kiss to the top of her head, she finally stops and lets her arms fall on each side of your waist, effectively trapping you beneath her.

Scratch really liking, you _love_ this position.

“I hate you,” she says, but she doesn’t sound too certain, and the way her voice is muffled against your neck just makes even harder for you to believe her.

“It’s okay,” you shrug, running your hands over her back. “But your stupid team just scored a goal.”

She pulls back a little and immediately snaps her gaze towards the screen, and when she looks back at you, you realize that your faces are _really_ close. You could probably do some damage if you were to just lean up a bit. But Laura shifts before you can even entertain that idea, and, as she rests her head on your chest and focuses on the tv again, you hope she doesn’t notice the way your heart is beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird.

"It's _our_ team, Carm." She says, as the referee calls yet another foul.

"Yeah, whatever."

You don’t complain for the rest of the game.

//

Practices for the upcoming season don’t officially start until September, but you can’t say that you’re surprised to often find that your teammates have booked the school rink for the afternoon so that they can slip back into shape before classes are back on.

You can’t speak for them, not really, but you’re sure you’re not the only one who’s been eating more takeout than your diet allows lately.

Some days you find them there on accident; others you get a text calling for everyone to meet up so that you can go against the boys in a friendly game - which is never _friendly_ at all.

In a pleasant turn of events, Laura usually watches those games too. You can’t keep your attention focused on her but you always notice how she always seems on the verge of flying from her seat whenever one of the guys skates next to you and you can’t help but finding her worry extremely cute, even if a little unnecessary.

But then you think of how you’d feel if your roles were reversed and - well, you’d probably be worse, really. The thought of anything like what happened to you ever happening to Laura has your blood running cold inside your veins and you have to shake your head to slip it off your mind.

You’re both gonna be just fine.

There are days, though, when Laura has practices of her own and can’t make it to your little game of shinny.

It’s on one of these days that you find Coach Hollis hanging around, clearly watching the progress of his team, even if not in any official capacity. He’s sitting on the stands, arms crossed as his eyes follow the players from one side of the ice to the other. Not a word ever escapes his lips, but you know that he’s keeping notes in his head, thinking of new plays and whatnot for the next season.

It’s no wonder that his team is one of the best in the country; he’s _good_ at what he does.

“Karnstein!” He calls out when you’re stepping off the ice. Your body is all sweat and exhaustion and you just want to get home so you can lie on your couch with Laura and watch some random thing on TV, but you still make your way to him.

You pull your helmet off your head and you meet his gaze, “Yeah, Coach?”

“I-” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “I was wondering if you and Laura had anything planned for Saturday? I was thinking of taking her out to dinner, but we can maybe do lunch if you do.”

You furrow your brows at him; it’s not unusual for Laura to be at your house at all times, but you didn't think it had come to the point where her dad would be wondering if he could take his own daughter out to dinner or something.

It doesn’t really make sense.

“Uh, Saturday, Coach?”

He watches you for a moment and then gives a slow nod. “Yes. Laura’s birthday.”

Her birthday.

Which is in four days.

And you had absolutely no idea.

_Fuck._

“Right, of course.” You clear your throat. “I was actually thinking of throwing her a surprise party.” _Lies,_ but you might as well - right? “So she can just come over after you guys do dinner?”

A small smile spreads on his lips. “That actually sounds nice, Carmilla. I’m sure Laura will love it. Let me know if you need any help with it, okay?”

You nod quickly. “Sure thing, Coach. And, well, please don’t tell her anything, yeah? Wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

“I won’t, don’t worry.”

A breath escapes your lips. “Thanks, Coach.”

And then you’re walking to the locker room, wondering how _the hell_ you’re gonna pull off a birthday party for Laura in so little time.

//

First you get in touch with LaFontaine and Perry.

It’s probably a good thing that Laura made you hang out with them so much in the past month, because you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to pull this off without their help. You know Laura, you do, but that’s about all you care about, really. You wouldn’t be able to name five of her teammates if you tried, and you’ve been watching their names on the back of their jerseys for over a year now.

Whatever. It’s not like they’re important to you. But they are to Laura and it wouldn’t be right for you to throw her a birthday party without inviting the people she cares about.

Once that is dealt with, you call on Kirsch and Danny to help you with everything else. You’re not particularly fond of the idea of having a themed party - Laura is turning twenty, that’s hardly a kid anymore - but it sorta gets away from you when you’re walking around the mall with Kirsch and Danny one day and you find these stupid Doctor Who party hats that you’re sure Laura would look absolutely _lovely_ wearing and then the rest is history.

Themed party it is.

(With booze. A lot of booze.)

//

When Saturday rolls around, your apartment looks as if someone threw up Doctor Who paraphernalia in it.

Honestly, it’s gross.

(You don’t even want to imagine how you’re gonna manage to clean this up tomorrow.)

(It’s quite possible that you’ll have police boxes staring at you for the rest of your life.)

You got a text from Laura a couple of hours  earlier saying that she was gonna go out to dinner with her dad. It was short and to the point - not at all like Laura, she even used proper punctuation - and you think that she might have been angry at the fact that you hadn’t mentioned her birthday at all.

And the thing is, you’ve been _dying_ to do that all day. It was the first thing you typed up on your phone when you woke up but you decided against sending the message because it would kind of ruin the whole point of your surprise. Laura had been dropping hints about her birthday for the past few days - probably longer, really, but you might have been too dumb to notice that - and you think that turning her disappointment into a great surprise might be enough to make her forgive you for not acknowledging it earlier.

If not that, maybe the gift you got her.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you press the standby button to see Laura’s name on your screen. When you unlock it, you find a short _on my way_ staring back at you, and immediately it feels as if you’re gonna combust.

This is gonna happen.

“Okay, assholes, she’s on her way.” You call out to the crowd taking over your living room and half of your kitchen.

You couldn’t name a third of them if you tried, but LaFontaine and Perry assured you that Laura would be happy to see them, so you went with it. In truth, though, you can’t wait for this to be over and done already so that you can have Laura all to yourself again.

(Maybe it’s wrong to be selfish, but - _God,_ you don’t care.)

Laura’s friends make themselves scatter once the buzzer sounds and you check that everyone is hidden before you find a seat on the arm of your couch, directly facing the door.

For the next three minutes, it feels as if you’re holding your breath. Your skin is tingling, your brain is spinning and you can’t seem to be able to stop bouncing your leg, which is completely ridiculous because you have never - in your entire life - been as nervous as you are right now.

All of this over a surprise party.

_Fuck._

But then Laura is opening your door and her friends are yelling a cliché _Surprise!_ and her face is splitting into one of the biggest grins you’ve seen on her lips since you’ve known her and a sudden realization slips into the forefront of your mind.

You’d do _anything_ for this girl.

And you wouldn’t regret a single moment of it.

//

Once the party dies down and Laura’s friends finally leave your apartment, it’s well into the wee hours of the morning.

Laura is nearly passed out on your couch after insisting on helping you clean up and you would be lying if you said you hadn’t spent the last five minutes watching how peaceful she looks, just lying there, not a trace of worry on her face.

This is probably the most relaxed you’ve seen her in the last few months.

(It makes you feel this weird ache in your chest to realize that you had something to do with that.)

You slip into your bedroom and you grab the box that has been sitting on your bed the entire night, just waiting for the moment when you’d have Laura all to yourself.

“Hey.” You say once you’re back in your living room. You feel an itch on your palm and before you can second-guess your actions, you gently push a strand of Laura’s hair behind her ear and you let your thumb graze her cheek. “Wake up, cupcake. You need to get home.”

Laura stirs under your touch and you watch as her eyes open slowly and focus on you. For a moment, neither of you say anything. It’s the kind of silence that is filled with everything and nothing at the same time, and you wonder how is it that you’ve managed to go so long without someone with whom you could share moments like this without it feeling awkward or forced.

You wonder how you’ve managed to go so long without _Laura._

“Did I fall asleep?” She asks, and you ignore the way her raspy voice makes a shiver go down your spine.

You chuckle. “Yeah, nearly drooled all over my couch.” Then, you grab the box you brought from your room and you hand it to her. “Here.”

“It’s a comfy couch.” Laura huffs. She moves to a seated position and she blinks twice at the box sitting between the two of you before her gaze meets yours again. “What is this?”

“Well, you won’t know unless you open it, right?”

She blinks at you _again,_ and then she’s carefully undoing the ridiculously large ribbon around the red square and pulling off the lid.

Once she sees what’s inside, she lets out a gasp.

“ _Carm._ ” She breathes out.

You bite your lip and you watch in silence as Laura pulls the jersey out of the box. It’s one that you’ve seen her wear many times with a number of different names on the back, but you’re hoping this one will be special.

“This -” Laura looks at you then, and you feel panic taking over your when you notice the tears in her eyes. “This is a _signed_ jersey.” She says. “From my favorite team.”

“Yes.” You nod dumbly, because you honestly have no idea if the crying is good or bad - if she hates you or not.

(You hope not.)

“Signed jerseys are _incredibly_ expensive.” She continues.

You can only nod again, because - well, it _had_ cost you an arm and a leg, not to mention the liver you had to sell to pay for overnight shipping so that it would get here in time. But you honestly couldn't care less about that.

A breath escapes your lips. “I thought you’d like it.”

And then Laura is looking at you as if you’re the stupidest person to ever walk this earth and you’re just growing really confused at this whole exchange.

“You’re such an idiot, Carmilla.”

Well. _Not_ the thank you that you were expecting.

“I think - I’m not sure, but I think I can return it if you didn’t like it.”

And then Laura is pushing the box to the ground and wrapping her arms around you and you think, _you think,_ there are tears falling against your shoulder and this is not at all what you’ve had planned because you just wanted to make her smile, not cry.

“It’s the best gift anyone has ever gotten me.” She breathes out against your skin, still holding tightly against you.

In that moment, you feel as if you scored a thousand goals.

//

You offer to walk Laura home once the crying has subsided.

She says you don't have to - it's only a few blocks away, after all - but you insist anyway. You offered for her to crash at your place but Laura's cheeks had turned pink at that and she'd confessed that she was mad at you for not wishing her a happy birthday all day and so she'd told her dad she'd be back home.

He probably wouldn't mind, but you help Laura pack her gift again and you walk out with her.

And - because you're still riding a wave of excitement after the events of the night - you allow yourself to drape your arm around her shoulder as the two of you make your way to her house. You tried to fight that, you did, but in the end it proved to be useless.

"Can I ask you a question?" She says, and you're so lost in how it feels to be so close to Laura that you don't even notice the way her brows are furrowed and she's softly biting her lower lip. You even make a joke before you realize how serious she is.

In your defense, though, it's _insanely_ hard for you to think when Laura's arm is around your waist and her body is pressed so close to yours.

When her hand reaches for yours, you think you might become a puddle on the floor.

"Why?" You say, once she confesses she's been saving her questions. "If you asked, I'd probably tell you whatever you wanted to know. No hoarded questions needed."

And you would, because you promised yourself that you'd always be honest with Laura, no matter what.

She doesn't seem to really believe you, though, because Laura decides to ask as many questions as she can before you finally make to her front door.

Once you stop just before the stairs of her porch, you suddenly feel cold. "Well. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Laura doesn't move. Not even after you wish her a happy birthday again. And you don't either.

For some reason, it feels like something is happening. You can't exactly explain why you feel like that, but the air suddenly feels heavy and it's as if you can _see_ the strings of destiny pushing and pulling and changing whatever it is that you've had with Laura for all this time.

Ridiculous, really. Maybe you're just drunk.

(Except that you're _not,_ because you haven't touched a drop of alcohol tonight.)

"Laura, I think-" You start, and you don't even know what it is that you _think,_ exactly, but before you can even find out, Laura's moves to grip your arm and the words die on your throat at the earnest look in her eyes.

"You do this thing," she starts, and you suddenly feel hollow. "Where you touch your knee with your palm."

The funny thing is, you actually thought you were doing a good job in hiding that. You thought she didn't notice the way your left hand always went to your thighs when the itch became too much for you to bear, when you just _needed_ to grab that stick.

You really thought she had no idea.

(It only goes to show, you're a bigger fool than you thought.)

 

* * *

 

After the party and the minimal clean-up, Carmilla offers to walk you home. The streetlights are dim and for that you're thankful because the blush that rises to your face when Carmilla casually drapes her arm around you is better off hidden in the shadows.

It's been one of the best nights of your life and probably one of the best birthdays you've ever had. If you're being honest with yourself, though, just you and Carmilla spending the night together would have been enough. She didn't need to plan something so wonderful to make your night or get you something as extravagant.

Though what she'd gotten you, held inside the paper bag in Carmilla's free hand, is now one of your most prized possessions.

(You honestly can't even explain how you'd felt the moment that you saw it. It was like wave after wave of gratitude and affection were flowing through your veins and all you could really think about for a solid half an hour afterwards was how happy you are to have Carmilla in your life.)

It's cold for a July night, but you only live a couple blocks from Carmilla so it doesn't concern you as much as it probably should. There's also the added bonus of her arm around you causing the mother of all blushes to remain on your face and the warmth _that_ provides your skin can probably power a small city. You have an arm snaked around her hips, thumb hooked at the belt loop of the jeans she's wearing so you can keep her close. For the purposes of continuing to match her stride, of course.

She's been looking at you all night and there had been few instances when you looking back hadn't caused her to fall into the habit of rubbing a palm over her knee. Towards the end of the night, her hand had curled into a fist afterwards, her jaw clenched. You found yourself wondering more than once if your theory regarding said habit was correct.

(Wondering if every time Carmilla's left hand slid against her knee was her own way of wiping away the itch to touch you.)

A part of you wants to know what would happen if that little coping mechanism wasn't present and there's no shortage of courage in your system at the moment, thanks to the amazing night that Carmilla had planned for you.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She turns to you mid-step and it's the closest you've ever been to her smile. "Does this count as one of those questions you've been hoarding for months?"

"I'm not sure." You reach up with your other hand to hold her fingers where they're hanging loose at your shoulder. Carmilla sighs and presses you _closer_ and you're completely overwhelmed by her closeness but also thrilled by it all. "I want to save those for when I really need them."

"Why? If you asked," she says seriously. "I'd probably tell you whatever you wanted to know. No hoarded questions needed."

Someone's heartbeat picks up at that - you're not sure if it's hers or yours because you honestly can't tell where you end and she begins anymore. "Yeah? When's your birthday?"

"September. The seventeenth."

You file that away for future reference.

"Favourite colour?"

"You know that already." Carmilla presses her forehead against your temple and her voice drops and you're not sure if you can handle her friendly flirting this close. "Whatever colour you're wearing on any given day."

"Even if I wear yellow?"

"You wouldn't wear yellow."

"I would." You squeak out. She's _so close_ that you can feel her heartbeat against your side and it's getting increasingly difficult to keep up with the game she's playing."I have this really nice yellow dress."

She scrunches her nose up, "Fine. Burgundy."

You hum in response and the two of you continue to walk. Carmilla detaches herself from you when you come up to your driveway. She hands you the paper bag.

"Well." She says and you're struck by the fact that this is new, her walking you home after you spend the evening with her, though tonight might be a special occasion. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right." You're not moving and neither is she and you're standing almost toe-to-toe now. The glow of the streetlights cast the most incredible shadows on Carmilla's face. "I guess I'll see you."

"Happy Birthday."

"Thank you." You say even though it's past midnight and technically not your birthday anymore.

Still, no movement.

"Laura, I think - "

You cut her off by grabbing her left wrist before you can lose the nerve. She looks down at your hands as soon as you do.

"You do this thing," You say, your grip on her tightening. "Where you touch your knee with your palm."

She doesn't respond or show any sign that she's even listening, but you continue.

"I see you do it all the time and it drives me nuts 'cause I wanna know _why_ you do it." Carmilla lifts her head and you're almost shocked by how pretty she looks even though you were thinking the same thing not even a minute ago. "So, why?"

You move your hand and angle it so that it's easier for you to lace your fingers through hers while she only blinks at you. Her jaw's set and you're pretty sure you can hear your blood pounding in your ears.

"I do it," She says slowly. "because if I don't, I think I might end up doing something very stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like - " She grimaces. "Cupcake, I don't think this is even remotely important information and it's getting late and I have to walk - "

Your brain is saying _don't cross this line, Laura_ but you don't listen.

"Like?" You prompt her.

She doesn't respond. Instead, she squeezes your hand once, twice, before letting go completely.

"Like touching you." She murmurs, her left hand at your jaw and sliding _up._ Your heart skips a beat. "In places I shouldn't."

"I don't mind." You say, covering her hand, on your cheek now, with one of your own.

She says, "Fuck, I shouldn't."

And then her lips are crashing against yours and you have to take a step back to steady yourself, your hands shooting out - the paper bag falls to the ground next to your feet and you love what's inside, you do, but there are other things you'd prefer to use your hands for right now, like feeling Carmilla's skin for example - to grab at her elbows so that she'd take that step with you. She's so unbelievably soft despite the fact that the kiss is almost rough at first. It soon slows down to something more gentle, though, more affectionate while Carmilla's thumbs rub circles at your cheekbones.

She tastes like chocolate and peppermint and _yours._ Like, everything is right in this world as long as her lips are touching yours. It feels like she's set every nerve in your body on fire. And you can't deny that you've imagined this happening multiple times, but nothing you can ever dream up can compare to the real thing because only Carmilla can ever be this amazing.

But when you pull away because you have to breathe, every worry you've ever had about this floods back into your brain.

"I'm sorry." Carmilla says breathlessly, interrupting your thoughts, and stepping back from you. "I shouldn't have - I didn't want - I _told_ you it was stupid."

You don't know what to say, so you don't say anything. Carmilla continues to talk, however.

"We can just - " she gestures at the space between the two of you. "Pretend this never happened. If that's - _Fuck,_ Laura, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

She's looking at you in the same way she's been doing for months now and all you can say is, "You want to forget it happened?"

"No." Carmilla answers immediately. "Wait, yes. I can try. And we can still - we can go back to normal."

You're not sure you can forget the small moan she'd let out when your lips first met or the way her hand had tangled in your hair, but you keep that to yourself because this seems to be what she wants and you're more than happy with normal.

At least that's what you tell yourself.

"Okay." You say and Carmilla looks both ecstatic and devastated at the same time or maybe that's you projecting. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." She has her arms crossed over her chest now and her fists are clenched. She bites her lip and you remember how soft that part of her had felt between _your_ teeth.

You step closer in an attempt to hug her goodbye, but Carmilla steps back.

"Thank you for tonight." You settle for saying instead.

"Don't mention it."

 _Yeah,_ you think you'd feel better if she didn't mean that quite so literally.

//

Pretending it didn't happen doesn't really work out.

In fact, that may be the understatement of the year because trying to repress the memories is exhausting and staying away from Carmilla - to help with the not thinking about it - is even more so.

In your defense, she seems to be doing her best to ignore you without really ignoring you, too. She skips out on breakfast twice before bailing on you for a run. And you're an independent person, you're used to being on your own, but it's really, really weird, running without Carmilla.

You can hear the _ba dum tum_ of the heart inside your chest without Carmilla's voice in your ears and it doesn't help that the rain is coming down in sheets, drowning out everything else except for what's in your head. You start off slow, but then that takes you back to October, the rain making your hair stick to your forehead and Carmilla slowly jogging along behind you. October was a better time, maybe. At least back then there had been no kisses to forget.

You speed up.

_Ba dum tum._

No kisses, no itchy palms, no memories of wide brown eyes staring into yours from only inches away. _Ba dum._ No hockey players stealing your heart and running up a hill with it. No worries about whether or not she'd stay.

_Ba dum tum. Ba dum._

No irregular heartbeats.

But a part of you - a part that's listening to this reckless heart - can do nothing but make you remember how happy she makes you, how nothing's ever felt as close to home as her arms wrapped around your shoulders. How you can never sing along to anything quite as loudly as you do when you're sitting in her passenger seat.

How -

_Ba dum. Ba dum tum. Ba dum._

How nothing's ever felt as _right_ as kissing her.

The heart starts beating so fast then that you have to stop, hands on your knees, rain water dripping from the end of your nose. You breathe in and out, trying to control this damn heartbeat that's been left to its own devices for too long now.

You focus on inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth. Your breath comes out in smoke and you watch it unfurl into the air around you for a while, willing your lungs to help you take a hold of the muscle contracting wildly in your chest.

No one stays. _Ba dum._ You don't need her. _Ba dum._ Your heart should beat for you and you alone. _Ba dum._

_Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum._

You smile to yourself when the familiar sound of your steady heartbeat rattles in your brain. The first step to healing was to figure out where you felt it the most, maybe the same can be said for forgetting.

//

You go to Carmilla's on Friday after your session with Jamie like normal.

She buzzes you up and calls out _come in_ when you knock at her door so you let yourself in and shut the door behind you. The room is strangely warm and all of her windows are shut. You figure it's Carmilla stubbornly refusing to live her life according to the strangely cold July weather you've been getting lately. But then the couch comes into view and she's there, a blanket wrapped around her, bags under her eyes, the tip of her nose pink. There are Kleenex boxes scattered on the floor around where her hand is hanging down over the edge of the sofa.

For a moment, you forget yourself, you forget all the work that you'd put in to _forgetting_ and you're kneeling on the floor in front of her before you even register what you're doing.

"You okay?" You ask her, sweeping some hair back from her forehead. She blinks up at you, nods, and then closes her eyes.

"Sick."

"Yeah, I can see that." The little laugh that comes out of your mouth sounds almost foreign. "Is my big, bad, hockey player not used to the cold?"

"Why the fuck is it even cold in July?" She says, her voice low and throaty. "It's the middle of the summer for fuck's sake."

You laugh at that and she huffs, pulls her blanket tighter around her shoulders. She looks so adorable that you can't help but lean down and place a kiss on her cheekbone.

 _Like normal,_ you tell yourself, but Carmilla doesn't seem to think so because she freezes, her sniffling stops, and you know she's holding her breath.

"Sorry." You say, getting back up on your feet and backing away. Carmilla looks up at you, a grimace on her face.

"No, it's fine. It's - I was the one who - it's not your fault." You stay where you are and you find that you don't quite know what to do with your hands. "Seriously, sweetheart, it's fine."

You don't move.

At least until Carmilla scoots forward on the couch, turning so that she's lying on her side. And then she says softly, "Come here."

You shouldn't, so you sigh, but you don't think you can ever really say no to her, so you climb over her body and position yourself so that you fit in between her back and the back of the couch.

"Sorry about before." She says. "I'm happy like this, I don't need more."

Crap, that _stings._

You don't say anything, though, you just throw an arm around her middle and you place a soft kiss under her ear. She leans into the touch and you pretend that you're fine and that you've forgotten, like her.

You've always been very good at playing pretend.

//

Over the next few weeks, you try to spend as little time with Carmilla as possible. Afternoons that you'd usually spend lying on her couch with her are replaced by free kick practice on the soccer field. You take it into your own hands, and you make sure to stay away somewhere where she can't follow.

It works out, you get some much needed peace and quiet on the field, and that goes on for a couple of days. On the third day, however, Carmilla shows up. She stands at the point where the green of the grass blends into the murky brown of the wet track and you don't mean to, but the sight of her catches you so off-guard that the bail sails over the net and into the stands about twenty rows up when you kick it.

"Nice." She calls out, her voice dripping heavy with sarcasm and playfulness. "The National Women's Team will _definitely_ take a look at you next fall."

"Shut up. What are you doing here?"

She shrugs and shifts her weight in between her feet before speaking, "Kirsch invited me to go camping with him and Danny." There's a roll of her eyes. "And I thought that maybe you could come along and we can bring Perry and LaFontaine and I can try to fix what I've screwed up."

"You didn't screw anything up." You tell her, walking closer to where she's standing, but keeping your eyes on the soccer ball, bouncing slowly down the bleacher steps.

"You don't have to be so nice about it. I know when I've fucked up." Another eye roll. "But anyway, I thought this would be good, you know, for us."

Camping does sound like fun and a distraction. You're sure LaFontaine and Perry wouldn't mind getting off campus for a bit, either. And God knows you need some time away from this dreadful place.

"That could be fun." You say.

"Good. I'd missed having you around." Carmilla has to clear her throat and you smile your biggest shit eating grin. "All the food in my fridge is starting to go bad without your free-loading ass around."


	14. August - Sophomore Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: Laura pulls away but they snap back together like an elastic band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for always being patient with our erratic updates and thanks for reading!

"I screwed up."

The words are out of your mouth before Matska even notices your presence in the room. In fact, it's a testament to her self-control that she doesn't so much as move a muscle in surprise, and instead just carefully sets her book down and turns around in her chair so that she can meet your gaze.

"And how exactly have you done that, darling?"

She gestures to the couch in front of her and you don't waste anytime before you unceremoniously let yourself fall on it, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you take a moment to observe your surroundings.

Finding your sister's house had been easy enough; the neighborhood was as pretentious as you imagined it would be, and Mattie's property even more so. No, _finding it_ had been a piece of cake. Pushing away all the thoughts about your past and how broken your relationship had been for the past few years?

Well, not so much.

"I kissed Laura." You confess, and you don't even try to stop the memories that immediately rush to your brain at the thought of Laura's lips pressed urgently against yours.

God, you can't even describe how that felt.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Mattie raising an eyebrow. "I think first you need to tell me _who_  Laura is."

And the thing is, you _can't_. Because who _is_ Laura, really? The person you loved to hate during your school years? Your Coach's annoying daughter? Silas' soccer star? Your acquaintance turned friend turned best friend? Maybe even more?

None of that seems enough to describe Laura Hollis, especially in relation to you.

"She's just _Laura._ " You tell Mattie, hoping that the explanation will be enough, even if you don't see how it could. You love your sister a lot, you do - you've been through hell and back together and a bond like that can't be easily broken - but you don't think she would really understand how you feel about Laura.

Sometimes you don't even think that you do.

Mattie nods to herself. "You're in love with her."

And, again, that doesn't seem _enough._ Yes, maybe you're in love with Laura. As a matter of fact, it's very likely that you are. But those words seem so little for what you feel whenever she's around. For the way your body hums in reaction to hers; the way you just seem to crave her presence at all times, no matter what you're doing.

"I don't know what I am." You sigh, running a hand through your hair. A part of you wants to just accept that. It would be easier. You're in love, you're in love, _you're in love._ You want to be the one to hold her close and listen to the stories about her day. You want to kiss her again, and this time - this time you want one kiss to turn into another and then another.

You want to wrap your arms around Laura and you never want to know what it feels like to have to let go.

But, _fuck -_ "I'm scared."

The words don't surprise you as much as they should, but you can see from the way Mattie shifts in her seat that she definitely didn't see them coming.

"You're a Karnstein." Mattie states, as if that alone makes her point. When you don't say anything, she continues. "Why would you be scared, sis?"

The idea of cutting this conversation short flashes into your brain. Maybe it had been a mistake to come here. You know Mattie wants to have a relationship with you again, yes, but maybe you're just too different for that to happen now. She might be the same person who walked out on you when you were a teenager, but you know you've changed. You've changed a _lot,_ especially in the last year.

But then again, running has never been your thing.

"I'm scared that being a Karnstein won't be enough to make her stay." You tell her, because you might as well just power through this. "I'm scared that being a Karnstein is exactly _why_ she's gonna leave me."

"Carmilla -"

You wave your hand, interrupting her. "Laura- _God,_ Laura is unbelievable, Mattie. You don't get it. She's amazing and she's the kind of person who deserves the world. And I-" You let out an empty chuckle and you wonder when you became such a mess of emotions. "I would give it to her."

Mattie gets up from her seat and moves next to you, a steady hand on your shoulder as you try to gather some semblance of control.

After a few deep breaths, you meet her gaze. "I don't want to offer her something that she isn't ready to accept yet."

It seems that she gets it, then. That maybe your disconnected speech somehow clicks in her brain, because she purses her lips and she exhales softly and you know that whatever she's about to tell you is gonna make or break you completely.

"Whether she's ready to accept it or not," Mattie says. "You need to let her know it's _there._ In the end, the only thing you can do is be honest to who you are, Carmilla. And if that girl doesn't realize what a gift you are, then I say she's the one who's missing out."

//

The idea of camping is - well, it’s probably a _terrible_ idea.

You haven’t been able to take that kiss out of your mind. Every time you close your eyes it’s as if you’re back in Laura’s driveway, her hand gripping your forearm and her lips pressed against yours - an urgency behind the act that made you wonder if kissing you felt anything like running for Laura.

If you were about to become her new drug of choice.

(You can't say that you'd mind if that were the case.)

Somewhere between hating Laura and becoming friends with her, a part of you started to crave that kiss. You'd find yourself wondering how it would be like to just close the space between the two of you; would Laura kiss you back? Would she be too shocked to do anything?

In that moment, you had your answer. She clung to you as if she never wanted to let you go.

And maybe she didn't. But once you opened you eyes and you saw Laura, _your_ Laura, every single one of your fears came crashing down on you.

How long before Laura decided you were worth just as much as those other girls she fucked and tossed aside? The idea that Laura could so easily get bored of you when you couldn't even fathom the possibility of not having her in your life was just too much.

So you let your mouth get the best of you.

And you ruined everything.

//

You show up to Laura's house at the crack of dawn, with LaFontaine and Perry already in your backseat.

They're barely awake, yet somehow annoyingly excited about the prospect of camping. You can’t understand how they manage to be so chipper, especially when you’d barely be able to keep your eyes open if it weren't for the ridiculously large cup of coffee sitting on your cup holder.

You're still convinced that a weekend in a tent with Laura is the worst possible idea you could have had, but you just want things to be as they were.

Actually, that's a lie. You want to kiss her again. You want that more than you've ever wanted anything in your life. And for the past couple of days you've been entertaining more and more the idea that maybe Mattie had been right.

Maybe there's no way you can make Laura want you, but you can let her know that you want _her._

You don't know whether it's better to be rejected than to never try at all, but at this point you can't even properly consider the pros and cons.

Everything blurs together and all that's left is _Laura._

And when she gets into the car and bumps her forehead against your shoulder in that way that just makes your heart skip a beat, you realize that it's pointless to deny how much you want her anymore.

Even if this ends badly - which it probably will, all things considered - you just want to have her for as long as you can.

Tennyson said that it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

God, you hope they knew what they were talking about.

//

It's clear as soon as you get to the campsite that maybe LaFontaine and Perry aren't really used to the whole camping thing.

You want to have the patch under the trees so that you don't have to worry about spontaneously combusting in this goddamn heat, but you give it up because clearly the gingers are better at blackmail than they'll ever be at putting tents together.

Besides, you will be spending all day outside anyway. This way, you get brownies and you can always find protection from the sun anywhere else.

"Hey," LaFontaine stops in front of your car as you're unloading the rest of their things out. "You, uh, think you can help us out our tent together?"

You look up and see Perry all but getting swallowed by the tarp of their tent and you figure you might as well help them before someone gets hurt.

Laura looks as confused at the idea of putting up a tent as LaFontaine does, so you send her after Kirsch. He got to the campsite with Danny the night before and brought a tent for you share with Laura, and you think she’ll have more success fetching that up than helping you with anything that requires a bit of manual labor.

Once she's on her way to the other side of the field where Danny and Kirsch are playing house, you turn to LaFontaine. "Alright, let's do this."

At first, you both work quietly. In the last couple of months, you have hung out with them a lot and you realize that they're actually kinda nice. They can handle your sarcasm and they give back as good as they get, so it didn't take long for you to actually enjoy being around them.

Or at least you _did,_ until they decided to open their mouth.

"So," they say as they take two sticks in their hands and try to lock them together. "What's going with you and L?"

It's a wonder you don't break your neck with how fast you turn to look at them.

"What do you mean what's going on?"

They give you a pointed look. "Carmilla."

Yeah, no, that's not gonna work with you. " _LaFontaine._ "

A huff escapes their lips and then they're giving up the pretense of even trying to help you set up their tent. They sit on the floor instead, glancing at Perry for a moment before they direct their attention back to you.

"You know about Laura's mom, don't you?" They ask, and you feel a lump get caught in your throat as your mind flashes back to Laura sitting in a hospital bed and telling you the story of how her mother just up and left one day.

You nod, but you don't say anything.

LaFontaine seems to be satisfied with that answer, though, because they grow quiet again. You look up at them and you see them playing with the grass on their side, their eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

A beat later, they talk again. "Carmilla?"

You hum in acknowledgment, almost done with their tent.

"Don't leave her."

And then they're walking towards Perry and leaving you to deal with the tremor in your hands and the palpitations in your heart at the simple idea that you ever _could._

//

When Laura gets back it's as if your conversation with LaFontaine never happened.

They throw you a decisive nod once you sit across them on the makeshift lunch table Perry got together. That’s probably the only indication you get that you didn't just imagine the whole thing on some delusional effect of the sun burning over your head the entire morning.

You nodded back at them and that was the end of it.

//

As lunch goes on, your spirits lift up considerably.

Laura spends the entire meal pressed as close to you as she can without making the heat worse and she even feeds you a piece of her turkey and cheese sandwich, which is far better than your own, for some reason.

(Maybe because it's _Laura's,_ but you keep this to yourself.)

You watch as Kirsch makes everyone laugh by being his own self and basically shoving a whole sandwich inside his mouth and you even let yourself have some fun when Perry pulls out Scrabble in answer to you teasing her about her vocabulary.

And you totally win that.

(And no, it doesn't matter that the score says _Danny_ did, it was totally you. By your own standards, anyway.)

You're working your way towards beating LaFontaine in a slingshot game Perry helped you both set up when Laura stops next to you, hands on her hips and her lips pressed together.

You've never wanted to kiss her more than you do right then, but you figure that that's probably not even close to how much you'll want to kiss her five minutes from now because it’s been growing increasingly hard to deal with that particular desire lately.

"Carmilla," she says, and you focus on lining up LaFontaine's slingshot with the last of the cans that Perry hung on a tree so that you can hit it and be done with this.

"Laura." You smirk as you close one eye to get a better aim.

The idea of playing this game seemed good right after lunch ended, but now you just want it to be done so that you can grab your things and go read a book with Laura on the beach. You'd promised her earlier that you’d take her there after lunch and you can’t deny that a part of you has been stalling because you don’t know if you can be alone with Laura without completely screwing things up _again._

You’re confused. You’re so incredibly confused that you could probably string your thoughts into at least a dozen poems if you actually thought that this would do you any good. But the idea of putting your feelings on paper - putting _Laura_ on paper - is beyond scary. Because it makes everything more real, somehow. As long as you keep your thoughts locked inside your head, maybe you can find a way to conceal your feelings, maybe even deny that they’re there at all.

But at the same time, you don’t want that. All your life you’ve let logic dictate your actions; it’s always been easier that way. If you can rationalize every little detail of the things that have happened to you, then you can detach yourself from it when the pain threatens to take over.

And there’s never been anyone in your life who has ever had the ability to cause you as much pain as Laura does.

(The idea that someone can have such power of your is both frightening and weirdly exhilarating.)

You thought writers were exaggerating when they said things about the head being at war with the heart, but now you _get it._ By God, do you get it.

Pulling back on the elastic of LaFontaine’s slingshot, you finally let the rock go.

It misses the target by barely an inch and somewhere in the back of your head you can’t help but make the comparison to every goal that you’ve ever had in your life.

Almost, but not quite _there._

You sigh. "Damn."

"We're never going to go, are we? You're never going to hit that can."

Perry hands you another rock and LaFontaine sniggers behind you. A clipped _s_ _hut up_ and your attention is back on the rock that’s pressed against your palm, almost feather-light against your skin.

You think of everything that has happened with you ever since Laura walked into your life and you place it all on that small rock. It suddenly feels a thousand times heavier and you decide, right then and there, that maybe there’s something poetic about pulling the sling back and just letting it all go.

"Laura. Watch." You tell her and you don’t even waste a moment before you release the elastic and you let the small rock fly all the way to the last can that’s hanging from the trees.

It hits it square in the middle and you hear the metal clang as the pressure flings the can to the grass, a few feet away from where you’re all standing.

In the middle of your celebration and LaFontaine and Perry honoring their side of the bet you previously agreed on, you realize that maybe that rock really represents everything that’s going on in your life. And maybe you don’t need to study and analyze it and try to make sense of every little detail.

Maybe you just need to let it go and hope that somehow everything will find a way.

//

Letting go means that you don’t think twice about things anymore.

You go to the beach with Laura and you grumble about stupid volleyball players but you’re not really bothered at all. You have Laura and you have your book and you have the ocean before you. Not even the fact that Laura apparently doesn’t know you actually wear glasses manages to annoy you - in fact, her reaction to it is so _Laura_ that it just makes your heart go wild in your chest.

Everything is perfect.

And if you catch Laura ogling you and you get to call her out on it - well, that just makes everything better, really.

//

You spend your afternoon swimming with Laura and it’s both your heaven and your hell.

Laura in a bikini - well, that’s clearly heaven.

But holding back your desire to _touch_ her, fuck, that’s the worst kind of hell you could possibly find yourself thrown in.

And it’s not that you’re holding back - you’re not, not anymore. That doesn’t mean, however, that you can just grab Laura’s face and kiss her again. If it were anyone else, you’d probably do exactly that. Or maybe not, not really, because you wouldn’t be trying this hard to make things _right_ with anyone else.

No one has ever quite gotten your attention like Laura Hollis does.

And maybe you haven’t solved her equation yet - a part of you thinks you never will - but you have enough variables to let you know that moving too fast here definitely won’t lead you to an answer. You don’t want to go back to how things were, however. And what’s the use in fooling yourself, really? You _can’t_ go back. Not before, and certainly not after you’ve seen Laura, her bikini still wet under her clothes, standing under the setting sun with the deep blue ocean behind her and nothing but ten feet between both of you.

You’re so far gone that even the possibility of going back sounds stupid.

//

"Have one." You say, offering a s’more to Laura as you lick the marshmallow off your fingers. "I promise they're good."

After you’d gotten back from the beach, Perry had called out that dinner was almost ready and you’d collapsed on the floor as you watched Laura move over to Danny to try and help her start a fire, which - suffice to say - didn’t quite go as they planned.

Kirsch sat beside you then, a bottle of beer in his hand - which he promptly shared with you, of course - and muttered something about how _our girls are pretty awesome, huh?_ which didn’t make sense at all because Laura wasn’t your girl and clearly she and Danny weren’t very _awesome_ at lighting a bonfire, but at the same time it did because she _was_ and they _were._

(Typical Kirsch, really. Saying everything while saying nothing at all.)

When everything was set up, Laura sat down next to you, her entire side pressed close to yours, head on your shoulder as she drifted in and out of consciousness. You can feel the way her nose ghosts over your skin and you hope beyond any hope that she doesn’t notice the little shivers running over your skin as your body reacts to her presence so close and yet so far away.

You try to make her eat the s’mores, but her exhaustion wins over her sweet tooth, and instead you give them to Kirsch with the excuse of asking for a ghost story in return. You’ve heard the dumb story about the ghost in his frat house and while you’re not really impressed by it, you know that it will catch Laura’s attention.

It works; she stays awake throughout the whole thing and even moves closer to you on some particularly haunting parts of the tale, which only serves to distract you from the world around you and focus on Laura and Laura alone.

When Kirsch is done, others decide to join in on the stories. LaFontaine starts on something that weirdly resembles the story of Frankenstein to you, and Danny seems convinced that the Summer Society house is also inhabited by the ghosts of every dead sister who was ever part of the sorority, but you’re too busy focusing on the feel of Laura’s steady breathing against your neck to question what they’re saying.

Sometime during the night Perry even manages to get something out of you. Horror stories aren’t really your thing, but you end up spilling out some old vampire story you heard when you’re a kid and you’re not surprised that you manage to get them all wide-eyed before you’re even done.

(The story might be dumb, yes, but you know you can be scary when you want to be.)

Once everyone is ready to call it a night, you gently nudge Laura in an attempt to wake her up so that you can make it back to your tent. It doesn’t seem that she’s in any state of walking by herself, though, so you decide to just ignore the way your body hums for hers and you wrap an arm around her waist so that you can carry her to bed.

The heat emanating from her skin is a stark contrast to the cold wind blowing against you and you can’t even understand how the temperature managed to drop so low when you were almost dying from a heat stroke only a couple hours earlier.

"Why the fuck is it so cold in here?" You mutter to yourself as you try to close your tent while balancing Laura against you and holding a flashlight between your lips.

(It’s a wonder no one gets hurt in the process.)

“Give me your phone.” Laura says from your side, and it’s only then that you realize that she’s awake again. You scrunch your eyebrows at her, because _what can she possibly want with your phone right now?_ but you fish it out of the back of your bag and you hand it to her because she asked for it and you can’t even deny how whipped you are anymore.

Her eyes squint against the display as she types something on the Google search bar and you let yourself enjoy the sight of a sleepy Laura for a moment, skin slightly red from the day out in the sun and new freckles on her face.

There’s no logic that could ever explain what she does to you.

“Damn.” She sighs after a few minutes and you snap your eyes to her just as she turns the phone display to you. “I guess Perry and LaFontaine were smarter than us this time.”

You check the page she has opened and you roll your eyes because _of course_ that you’d get fucked over with the one place in the whole camp field where you can’t run from the sun and you can’t run from the cold wind at night either.

It’s just your luck.

Laura starts to laugh next to you then, and you let out a _Why are you laughing? We're going to freeze to death,_ but the truth is that you can’t even add any bite to it because she’s just _so gorgeous_ and you’re such a fool for this girl that it’s beyond pathetic already.

You try to think of something while Laura does her best to stay awake, but in the end you realize that your only choice is probably the one you dread and crave the most.

_Body heat._

A part of you wants to just try and think of another solution - maybe a miracle would happen and your tent would somehow have an internal heater or something - but Laura says something about hurrying up because she’s cold and sleepy and you just know that you have no choice on this matter.

Resigning to your fate, you push your feelings aside and you zip both the sleeping bags together right before you proudly inform Laura of your actions.

It’s a bit of a game of Twister before the two of you can fall asleep. You know for a fact how Laura’s body just _fits_ against yours, but you’re also so scared to touch her that it takes a few near-bruises before you can stop overthinking this and just settle against her.

You think you say something to her right before you fall asleep, but the feeling of Laura’s back pressed against your chest and her stomach moving slowly against your hand works faster in luring you to sleep than any lullaby in your life ever could.

//

When you wake up the next day Laura is already outside with Perry and LaFontaine.

She places a bowl of fruits in front of you when you drop your body like a sack of potatoes next to her and tells you that Danny and Kirsch made friends with the volleyball crowd yesterday and were already out on the beach with them.

You take your time eating your grapes and berries, even going so far as popping a few into Laura’s mouth from time to time, and before you notice your two friends are back and the six of you are engaging in someone’s idea of card games that you - once again - are sure you won but that Laura fiercely demands that _she_ did, even when Kirsch and LaFontaine point out that she probably cheated through the whole thing.

(There’s a good chance that she did, but you can’t bring yourself to care.)

Just like the day before, you go to the beach with Laura after lunch. She brings your glasses this time and you don’t even bother on taking off the oversized white shirt you’re wearing over your black bikini before you drop down on the blanket you both laid down on the sand and all but press the tip of your nose to your book.

Laura runs off to the ocean but it’s not even thirty minutes before she’s back, her shadow blocking your light as she tries to dry herself.

“Can we go back?” she says, and you want to kick yourself when you lower your book and get an eyeful of Laura in a bikini, droplets of water running down her body. “I’m feeling a nap right now.”

You raise an eyebrow at her. “You can’t possibly be tired after all the sleeping you did yesterday.”

“ _Carm._ ” She whines and you can feel your resolve crumbling as she juts her lower lip out and tilts her head to the side.

“Can’t we stay? I wanna read my book and I like reading here.”

She bites her lip and shifts on her foot as she looks down at you and you’re almost ready to start gathering your things when she lets out an exaggerated sigh and finishes drying herself before all but laying on top of you.

“Shift.” Laura demands, moving your body so that she can adjust herself to a comfortable position with her head on your stomach and her arm around your waist.

You bite back the mother of all sighs when her nails scratch slightly against your skin and you try your best to focus on your reading but your hand moves to her scalp on its own accord and soon you’re hyper-aware of the way her cheekbones are pressed right against your ribcage and her hand has slipped under your shirt and her fingers are leaving a burning trail as they move up and down your skin, in no particular pattern.

You try to go on with your reading but fifteen minutes go by and you don’t even get to the end of the page, so you close your eyes and you pray to every god out there to give you some semblance of strength before your feelings make you burst from inside out.

"Move your pretty face off of my ribs," you growl, hoping that you’ll be able to hide the crazy beating of your heart by keeping Laura as far away from it as possible.

(Physically, at least.)

" _God,_ your cheekbones are sharp."

"I'm pretty when you need something, huh?" She says, and it’s only then that you realize the compliment even slipped.

You pause, wondering whether you should take it back or just ignore Laura’s remark altogether, but then your sister’s words slip into your mind and you remember your resolve to let Laura _know_ how you feel, so you bite your lip and you decide to keep being honest, because that’s what you both deserve. "Always pretty."

Laura thanks you, and you’re left to wonder whether you made the right choice with your words or not.

//

You only get more confused once when you’re walking back to the campsite.

After a few hours you reading and Laura napping your stomach had growled and you decided it was probably time you both got something to eat.

“Is it even dinner time yet?” Laura asks you as she helps you gather your things.

“I’m hungry, so yes.”

“Carmilla.” She rolls her eyes at you. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

You shrug. “It makes sense in my head. Let’s go, loser.”

She huffs behind you but one glance thrown her way and you notice the small smile playing on her lips, so you let the silence fall between both of you as you walk, the sun just starting to set as you leave the beach behind you.

Laura doesn’t fair much better with the tree roots in her sleep daze as she did the day before, but this time you don’t even think twice before you press your hand against her lower back and you help her along the way. Ever since the night before it’s been growing easier for you to touch her again without fearing that you might make her run away.

That is, until things apparently get out of hand and Laura stops dead in her tracks just as you press a kiss to the top of her head, her eyes wide and her cheeks tinged red.

“Please stop.” She says, and you feel all the warmth leave your body as if someone just threw a cold bucket of water over you. Her voice breaks when the words leave her lips and you take a step back because of how much you suddenly hate yourself at that moment.

It figures you couldn’t go a weekend without screwing things up _again._

You want to say something, _anything_ \- maybe apologize, or maybe just tell her everything that you’ve been keeping bottled up inside for so long, but you have no reaction in yourself. There’s a million things rushing through your brain and you can’t make sense of any of them long enough so that you can maybe try to make things right, maybe try to _fix_ this somehow.

But then Laura grabs your hand and she presses it to her chest and it’s as if that single point of contact is warming you up all over again as you feel her heart beating just as fast as yours against her ribcage.

She whispers something and the way it echoes so loud between the both of you makes it so hard for you to understand what is going on that you don’t even realize that Laura is walking away from you until it’s too late and she’s already zipping up your tent and disappearing inside it.

//

You make some excuse as to why Laura doesn’t join you and your friends for dinner, but you can tell by the furtive glances they throw at you that they don’t buy it.

Once everyone is ready to sleep, you make your way to your tent and you spend a good ten minutes trying to decide whether you should just go in or find somewhere else to sleep.

(Your car being a good temptation, right that second.)

In the end, you end up lying next to her.

She opens her eyes as you press a hand to her jaw and you want to apologize for maybe stepping over the line and pushing for things she’s not ready yet, but the words die in your throat and Laura is closing her eyes again before you can even find a way to push them past your lips.

//

Sleep doesn’t come, so you get your blanket, make sure that Laura is warm enough and you step out into the open camp, hoping that the stars above you will help you make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside of you.

//

You've been lying outside for over thirty minutes when you feel someone's presence and hear the sound of leaves being crushed next to you.

Your eyes are closed, but the footsteps aren't heavy, so you know it's not Kirsch or Danny who have come to interrupt your time of peace, as they seem to have a knack for doing.

There's not a reason for either Perry or LaFontaine to be awake right now either, and even less so for them to be invading your personal space, so it's kind of obvious to you who it is you're gonna find when you open your eyes, but you still feel your breath catch in your throat when you actually do it and see Laura standing next to you.

It's hard for you to decide what shines brighter in that moment; her or the stars.

(You think her, but you're probably biased.)

"Hey," she says, biting her lip and digging her toes into the ground.

You pat the space next to you on the blanket, and Laura lets out a soft breath as she sits down and then carefully leans back until she's lying flat against the ground, her entire left side pressed close to you, and once again you can’t help but notice how her warmth is such a contrast to the cool wind that's blowing around you.

"What are you doing up?" You ask her.

The North Star shines bright in the sky, and normally the sight would have you entranced, lost in a million thoughts about life and the universe. But tonight, the only thing you can feel is Laura's hand next to you and you're just itching to touch her, maybe lace your fingers with hers and feel the softness of her palm against yours.

"I could be asking you the same thing," Laura says, and you feel her gaze on the side of your face, so you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from doing something stupid, like looking at her.

Instead, you smirk. "Are you?"

"Am I what?" she huffs, and you see her moving from the corner of your eyes, flicking a piece of hair from her face with the hand that is not squashed between your bodies.

"Asking me the same thing."

You feel a warm breath against your cheek and you realize she must be looking at you. She doesn't say anything, though, so you don't either. Maybe words just make things worse for you and Laura.

Instead, you let your eyes follow the stars that group together to form the Ursa Minor to the ones at the beginning of Draco. You're almost moving the the Ursa Major, when you feel Laura's hand gripping yours and it's a small miracle that your heart doesn't jump out of your chest in this moment.

" _Carmilla._ " She sighs, and though the _'Look at me'_ goes unsaid, you know this is exactly what she wants.

So you turn your head to meet her gaze; ever-so-slowly, because you know that you won't be quite able to handle the torture of being so close to her without being able to do all the things that you've been dreaming of doing for a while now.

You don't even dare to think of exactly _what_ that is - there's a real chance that your body will self-combust if you do.

"Yes, Cupcake?" You ask, and you should win an award for the way you somehow manage not to purr at the sight of her eyes shining against the dim light of the moon and the stars.

Laura squeezes your hand, and you have to close your eyes for a moment so that you're able to reign your feelings. "What are you doing?" She asks, and you don't know whether you want to laugh or cry because she has no idea of the number of answers you have for that question.

_Looking at you._

(Something stupid.)

_Thinking of kissing you._

(Something reckless.)

_Falling for my best friend._

(Something inevitable.)

All of those thoughts go through your head, but you think of everything you felt with Laura’s heart beating against your hand and you pick something safe, instead, "Looking at the stars."

(Maybe you're a coward.)

When you open your eyes again, Laura is looking at the sky. You thank the powers that be for that moment, for allowing you to be so close to her, to be able to map the lines in her face just as you learned to map the constellations in the sky.

You left your tent because you wanted to stargaze, but you didn't realize that the only star that mattered had been lying on a sleeping bag next to you, clutching a yellow pillow tightly between her arms and snoring softly.

"It's _beautiful,_ " Laura whispers, and you know it is, but the stars in the sky have nothing on the sight that stands before your eyes.

So when you let out a soft breath and say, _Yeah, it is_ you know you'll never be able to do this without imagining the little freckles on her face or the way the way her skin manages to glow so bright when everything else around you is dark.

And then Laura turns to look at you and the way her brows are furrowed and her lips are parted makes you realize that you've never been strong. You've always needed people to make you fight for things, but in that moment, you're all by yourself. And you know you should be strong, you know you should stand tall when everything else is crumbling, but it's just too much.

You've never wanted to be weak in your life, but now you do.

So you push forward and you try to ignore the voices in your head telling you this is a bad idea, telling you that you need to pull back and get a hold of yourself, because Laura counts on you to be her constant in a world that's always changing and you can't be the one to sweep the rug out from under her feet like this.

But then your nose bumps against hers and everything goes quiet. You can't hear the crickets anymore, you can't hear the whistle of the wind as it rushes past your ears. All you can hear is the sound of your heart beating louder than a drum inside your chest, building momentum and reaching its peak just as your lips meet Laura's for the second time.

You swear your heart stops.

For a few agonizing moments, you think you're going to die. There's not a single sound anymore, not a single moment. You know you screwed up, but you rationalize that if this is going to be your end, you're glad you died as a coward. Because at least you got to feel soft lips against yours one more time, lighting up your entire body like the freaking sky on Canada Day.

And then you feel your heart beating again. A steady rhythm of _ba dum, ba dum, ba dum,_ just as Laura's lips start to move against yours. She pulls you closer and deepens the kiss, and the _ba dum, ba dum, ba dum_ goes faster, trying to match the pace of her actions, the urgency of her needs.

It's then than you realize your heart is not _yours_ anymore. It might be inside your chest, it might be keeping you alive, but it's only a part of an orchestra and you're no longer its conductor. You don't choose its key and you don't choose its tempo.

Laura does.

Which means you can't even do anything but follow her lead when Laura pushes herself on top of you, her kisses growing more desperate and intense.

Your hands quickly find her waist and you hold her body against yours, your nails digging into her skin as you try your best to keep them from roaming. There’s something inside of you that just wants to have the tip of your fingers brushing against every single part of Laura’s body, every single crease and every single curve. It’s a bittersweet thought; you wanna commit this to memory, just in case you never get to do it again.

But at the same time, you don’t know how far you can take this.

You’ve seen how Laura treats girls. There’s no way you can ignore how she’s gone through one after the other for as long as you’ve known her.

Cantor said that sets are collections of elements, and you’ve always found that Laura is an element that’s often in an intersection. But you? You are a set of your own, and the only other set you’ve ever wanted to intersect with was Laura, and you thought maybe things were headed towards a place where the two of you could become an union of different elements; where you could become one single set.

It dawns on you then, that maybe you’ve been wrong this whole time, because the more you think about it, the more you wonder if you’re not about to become just another element in Laura’s set of conquests.

But then she’s taking your hands that are tightly gripping her waist and she’s slipping them under her shirt, and you find that you don’t care if you’re an union or an intersection, as long as you’re not a set difference.

“Tent,” you say, because you don’t want _this_ to stop, but you also don’t want your friends to find you and Laura in this position.

You want this moment to belong to the two of you alone.

“ _Carm._ ” She whines, seemingly frustrated that you pulled out your hands. You push her hair back and you let your thumb brush her lower lip and Laura lets out a low moan as she looks down at you. “Fuck, _okay._ ”

She gets up and you don’t even bother with the blanket, you just cup her face with your hands and you kiss her again.

You can’t quite explain what it feels like, to kiss Laura. You think of all the theories of mathematics and philosophy you’ve been studying for your whole life and you can’t find a single one to explain what happens to you when your lips touch Laura’s and your skin comes in contact with hers.

In the equation of your life, Laura is _x_ and you have no idea how to even begin to solve her.

“I need you out of these clothes,” she pants, and you waste no time picking her up. Your hands find her backside and you have to bite on her shoulder as Laura settles against your waist.

The way she throws her head back makes you forget the world around you.

“ _Jesus,_ Cupcake.”

She grips your shoulder and kisses you again, “I swear if you don’t take me to our tent right now I’m gonna push you back on that blanket, privacy be damned.”

The fact that Laura, who has always been ridiculously polite, even when she was being a jerk, is pressed against you and _cursing_ does more things to you in that moment than you’re willing to admit.

(Not to mention that your hands are gripping her ass, and, well, that speaks for itself.)

So you waste no time taking her back, and you try not to fall harder for her when she falls on the air mattress with a giggle and her hair spreads all over the stupid yellow pillow that she insisted on bringing along, but you fail. You fail because in that moment, Laura is _everything._

You were naive to think you’d ever be able to resist her.

And then there are clothes being shed and her hand is burning a trail against your usually cold skin, and you find that maybe you haven’t really _lived_ until this moment. Everything about your life has been theories and adding things up and making sure that the boxes are neatly stacked where they belong and that everything makes sense, but it’s not until you feel Laura’s fingers slipping inside of you and her teeth nearly breaking the skin of your shoulder, that you realize that life isn’t about things you can explain.

Life is about things you can _feel._

 

* * *

 

"What is it about me that makes me so easy to leave behind?"

Jamie looks up from the plant that she seems to be repotting while sitting on the ground in the middle of her office. She then looks pointedly at the doorknob still in your hand and the open doorway behind you. You close the door.

"I would ask you about how your week has gone, but it seems you've already picked a topic of conversation this morning." She gestures to your usual seat, but you stay standing instead, still just two steps inside. She goes back to her plant. "What brought this on?"

You're not sure how to answer that other than _Carmilla, Carmilla, Carmilla_ and so you don't.

"Laura." Jamie says. "How was your week?"

You find that the answer that wants to come out of your mouth, once again, only consists of Carmilla's name.

"Nothing. It's stupid."

"Ah." Jamie stands up, cradling the newly potted plant in her hands. "In my humble opinion, anything any of us choose to converse about can be classified as either nothing or stupid."

"Oh, God." You're done resisting, so you let yourself fall into your usual seat. " _She_ would say that. She's such a pretentious asshole."

"Tell me about her."

"She's - " You have to clear your throat because even just thinking about ways to describe Carmilla causes this unsettling feeling to bloom in your chest. "She drives this old beat up car even though she can afford a new one and she doesn't recycle or tidy up after herself, but her eyes are so kind and she's got this smile - I could probably look at her all day for years and not ever get tired of it."

"Who is she?"

"My best friend." You respond, no longer even surprised that those words are what your brain spits out. You've been thinking that about her for months now.

"I see." Jamie walks back over to you and takes a seat. "So, what did she do?"

"I never said she did - you're good at your job."

"I did not need a PhD to see that connection, oddly enough, but thank you."

You look at the floor for a while, waiting for Jamie to continue speaking. When she doesn't, you let your mind wander back to that night, Carmilla's elbows imprinting themselves into your hands, her bottom lip in between your teeth. You wish you were back there, you wish you'd just let her itchy hands be.

But you didn't, and now you have to face the consequences.

"She kissed me and it just - it cracked me open and then she left me there on my driveway after saying we should forget about it." You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It made me wonder why no one seems to want to go through the trouble of sticking around."

"Well, did you tell her how you felt about it?"

"No." You had agreed never to lie to Jamie and the thought of now seeming like a bad time to break that promise is the only thing keeping you talking. "It doesn't matter. And I don't think she cares."

"Is she the kind of best friend that doesn't care about your feelings?"

"No. Of course not!"

"What did you mean, then, when you said she didn't care?"

You look at Jamie who's looking you and you clear your throat because the idea of saying what you've been thinking for too long now - even if you'd be saying it in a room where you've said countless other things you'd said nowhere else - downright terrifies you.

"I don't think she feels the same way."

//

You're really regretting agreeing to go camping once the weekend for it rolls around. It's been weeks now since the kiss, since your disastrous appointment with Jamie, and things between you and Carmilla are going as smoothly as ever. Yet, the idea of having to share Kirsch's old, small tent with her still sends a shiver down your spine.

She picks you up last, so there's already music playing once you finish loading your things into the car's almost non-existent trunk space and slide into the passenger seat. LaF and Perry are squished together in the backseat, a mass of objects piled in the space with them. They're chipper despite their seating arrangement, though, and you guess it has something to do with Carmilla alternating between their preferred genres of music - Perry prefers classical and LaFontaine likes metal - as she drives.

It's early enough in the morning that the sky is still in that beautifully awkward transition period between night and day. The thought of nighttime makes you sleepy and Carmilla seems to feel the same way if the extra large cup of coffee in her cup holder is any indication.

"Morning," you say, leaning forward to bump your forehead against her shoulder. She hums quietly and stills for a moment before rolling her shoulders back, effectively detaching you from her.

"Morning to you too, clinger." She says, smiling. "You ready to get going?"

Perry and LaFontaine both answer in the affirmative before you can even open your mouth. Carmilla turns to them and says, in this lazy drawl, "I wasn't asking you fuckers. I was asking Laura here."

Twin grunts of acknowledgment come from the back seat.

"Ready." You say, bracing yourself for Carmilla to smile so that you can keep your breath from catching when she does. "The quicker we get there, the quicker we can go home."

"That's the spirit, Hollis." Carmilla begins to pull out of your driveway and you chance a look at her as she does so - which, mistake number one of the weekend because you should know better than to think you can look at Carmilla while remaining unaffected.

The drive takes less than a couple of hours, but it feels a lot longer. Especially when the music playing on the radio isn't of the sing along variety. You spend most of it looking out the window, watching the sky slip slowly into light. It's not a bad trip, Carmilla and LaF argue about pseudoscience and Perry hands out granola squares that looks incredibly healthy but taste like sin, but isn't one you'd like to make again.

The campsite is near the coast. You can hear the waves crashing against the shore when you roll your window down once you're within the boundaries of the park. Danny and Kirsch had come down the night before and the place is packed and so it takes a few minutes of Carmilla cursing the dirt road before you finally spot the two of them, sharing bites of something off of the same fork.

"About time!" Kirsch says, jumping up when he sees Carmilla's car approaching. It's like a camp site cul-de-sac of three, this particular portion of the park, and the little camping spaces with their individual picnic tables are so cute that you suddenly get a renewed sense of excitement to spend the weekend essentially playing house with Carmilla.

"Not my fault you picked the middle of nowhere to camp." Carmilla parks the car and saunters out, slapping hands with Kirsch in greeting. She looks up and does an exaggerated squint, a hand resting perpendicular against her forehead. "Ginger Giant is that you? Jesus, you're both tall as hell. God help the kids that might be conceived this weekend."

You choke on your laughter in an attempt to stifle it.

Carmilla then re-introduces LaF and Perry to Danny and Kirsch - she really is quite gracious when she wants to be - and you climb out of the passenger seat in order to join the group as they survey the camp site.

"I want that one." LaF says, pointing to the one on the far right. It has a little bit of a tree cover and shade. You kind of want it too.

"No, Laura and I want that one." Carmilla cuts in. "Besides, my car is already parked there, Tweedledum."

"Your car can be moved -"

"Oh yeah? No chance _I'm_ moving it -"

"We're redheads, we'll burn -"

"Have you seen Laura? She'll turn into a massive freckle made out of little freckles -"

"I can't make no-bake brownies in the sun." Perry interrupts. That shuts Carmilla up.

"Let's get the tent, Perr." LaFontaine's grin is smug. You glare at them in tandem with Carmilla who looks like she's about two seconds from committing murder. "You want to move your car, _Carm?_ "

Carmilla throws a hand up, middle finger pointing to the sky, and holds it over her head all the way to her car door.

//

Carmilla sends you over to Danny and Kirsch's camp site to collect the tent that Kirsch had promised to lend the two of you while she lays down the tarp and helps LaF put up their tent. You feel strange just strolling into their space so you knock on the hood of Kirsch's truck to announce your presence.

"Oh hey Laura." Kirsch says, peeking around from behind the truck. "I'll grab the tent. Have you had breakfast? We have some leftover."

"No, I'm okay, thanks." You walk around to where he is after waving at Danny, who is sorting through a cooler. "The tent has a manual, right?"

Danny snorts.

"I am the manual." Kirsch says, moving as if to dump the tent in your arms, deciding against it, and shutting the truck door instead. He gestures for you to walk ahead of him.

"Yeah, good luck, Laura." Danny shakes her head in amusement. "I'll get lunch started if you want to send Perry my way, Kirsch."

"Yes ma'am." He salutes at her before herding you forward. "I'm so happy we're all gonna be camping this weekend, dude. It's gonna be such a blast. Have you been down to the beach yet? Oh man, you are going to love the beach and Carmilla is going to love reading there..."

He continues, but you zone out a little, thinking of how Carmilla would look, lying on the blanket, a book in her hands. You're not sure you can handle it, especially if there's bare skin involved because you had had a hard enough time on Canada Day with her in shorts. Anything less might kill you.

"Hey!" Kirsch calls out once Carmilla is within hearing distance. She turns away from the air mattress box she's studying when she hears him and your eyes snap to her face without any effort at all on your part. Friends can enjoy looking at each other's faces, right? "Was just telling Laura about the beach. You guys should go after lunch."

"We probably will, considering that our campsite feels like Mars." She tilts her head in the direction of the cooler sitting on your picnic table. "Can you take this when you go back? It's going to melt if we leave it here."

Kirsch nods at that.

Together, the three of you build the tent from the ground up. Kirsch has fun comparing yours and Carmilla's heights against one of the collapsible tent poles - Carmilla is an even four rods and you are about three and three quarters, Kirsch is six - and he laughs when you have to climb up on Carmilla's back to tie the tarp to a tree branch while he works at eye-level.

When the tent is completely set up and Kirsch is well on his way to stealing Perry to help with lunch, Carmilla unzips the door of it and hands you the air mattresses and a pump.

"Put those pretty arms to use, would you?" She glances at the car, still overflowing with bags and food and cooking supplies. "I'll start unloading the car."

You nod and work on kicking your shoes off. Carmilla shuffles closer to you.

"Hey. You're weirdly quiet. You okay?"

"Just tired. Early wake up call and all."

She laughs slightly, "Yeah, me too. But hey, we'll have a lot of time to do nothing this whole weekend. And we can go to the beach after lunch. Just me and you, I promise I can say no to Kirsch if he asks to come along."

"That'd be nice." You say, smiling back at her.

"Good. We can bring the big umbrella and your blanket and I'll bring my book. I'm sure there are a lot of gorgeous women on the beach to keep your attention."

You swallow the lump in your throat. You haven't even looked at anyone else since Christmas.

"Sounds good."

"Yeah." Another little laugh. "And not that you need any more sun, because I gotta say, you're a freckled freak right now, but sunbathing is an option, too."

"Shut up about the freckles."

She smiles and taps your nose with an index finger. "I think they're cute. Now get on pumping some mattresses."

//

Lunch turns out to be a spirited event that turns into a Scrabble game after Carmilla goads Perry into a vocabulary war that you honestly cannot pinpoint the origin of. To no one's surprise, Danny wins by a landslide. You think Carmilla could have given her a run for her money if she wasn't so busy being her best agitating self and trash talking everyone during their turns. She runs out of material pretty quickly and the weak insults make you laugh so hard that you barely hit a hundred points in the game.

(Yeah, you'll blame that for your embarrassing loss. Though Carmilla's proximity might be a bigger factor.)

You end up helping Danny and Kirsch clean up while LaF, Carmilla, and Perry scavenge for bits of rope so they can hang empty pop cans from a nearby tree branch to use as targets for LaF's slingshot. There's a childish energy that camping seems to bring out of Carmilla and it makes you smile when the unmistakeable sound of rock hitting tin reaches your ears followed by a loud whoop from Carmilla and a _no way, you cheated_ from LaFontaine.

That goes on for a while and you sit at the picnic table of Kirsch and Danny's campsite, watching Carmilla and your friends run around like five year olds in search of rocks to shoot. Perry is a surprisingly good shot and the three of them manage to wreck all the cans except for one by the time that you're ready to go sit around at the beach.

"Carmilla." You say, watching her line up the slingshot for what feels like the hundredth time in the last half hour.

"Laura." She parrots back at you.

"You said we'd go to the beach."

"And we will, as soon as I wreck this goddamn can."

You sigh and watch as she lets go of the shot and the rock sails to the left of the can by less than an inch.

"Damn." She says. Perry hands her another rock. "Thanks, Betty Crocker."

"We're never going to go, are we? You're never going to hit that can."

LaF sniggers, "She has a lot of faith in you, huh?"

"Shut up." Carmilla tells them. To you, she says, "Laura. Watch."

It's like Carmilla's pride and arrogance wills that rock to hit because it doesn't seem like it's anywhere near the can until it is and she's throwing her arms up in victory.

"Told ya!" She says, skipping over to where you are, this huge grin on her face. "Who's the best shot here?"

Without missing a beat, LaF and Perry say, "You are."

"Hold on." You say, taking her arm. "Is this what you three bet on? Bragging rights?"

"They also have to bow now whenever they see me on campus." Carmilla says, laughing. "Me and LaFontaine are going to have a lovely time running into each other in the Math wing."

She's so high on her victory that she practically drags you back to your campsite, bantering with LaF at the top of her lungs the whole way. She pushes you gently towards the tent.

"I'll grab all the things while you change. Can you just put my book in your purse?"

"Which one?"

"You pick."

You end up grabbing a random one from her pile and stuffing some extra clothes for both of you in your purse as well. After some deliberation, you decide to forego a shirt, choosing instead to put your sunscreen on here instead of struggling with it at the beach. After a good ten minutes, you're confident you've managed to cover all the skin on your back. You throw the sunscreen in your purse as well. Just in case.

Carmilla is lounging against the hood of her car when you finally step out of the tent. She's holding the big umbrella in one hand and two water bottles in the other. Her eyes seem like they're glued to your skin and her grip tightens noticeably on the umbrella.

She clears her throat, "Towels?"

"Yep."

"Blanket?"

"Check."

"Let's go, then." She stands up straight. "It's just a bit of a walk, I asked the garden gnome sitting in the booth over there."

"You mean the park ranger?"

"Sure." She says. "Here, follow me."

The walk isn't bad. It's just the length of a dirt path cutting through a grove of trees. Carmilla marches along, humming occasionally. At the end of the path, she turns to you and smiles.

"Shade." She says. "Nice."

The beach is nice. There are very few people around. You can see a family a bit further along the shore and there are a handful of school aged children playing volleyball nearby. You take your sandals off before stepping into the warm sand.

"I swear to God, if that volleyball comes anywhere near me..." Carmilla mumbles while she's setting up the umbrella. You wait for her to be satisfied with its position before moving to lay your blanket out underneath it. Carmilla sits as soon as you do so. She looks up at you, smiling, and eager.

You roll your eyes at her. "You want your book, don't you?"

When she nods, you hand her your purse and you watch her dig around in there while you're sliding your shorts off. Oddly enough, she doesn't stop looking once the book's safely in her lap.

"Did you bring my glasses?" She asks, practically shaking out the contents of the bag onto the blanket.

"You wear glasses?"

"I'm not kidding, Laura, they're not in here."

You feel a laugh bubble out of your throat. "That's cause I didn't even know you wore glasses."

"They're for reading." She says slowly. "I read _all the time_ and you're with me _all the time._ "

"Sorry, Carm. They're probably all the way back in your bag. I can walk back - "

"No, don't be ridiculous." She stands up and you step back and out of your shorts. "I can go swimming with you instead."

There's something strangely intimate about watching Carmilla shuck her clothes off even if it _is_ midday in the middle of a public beach. Her shorts go first and you can't help following their rapid descent with your eyes and then back up Carmilla's legs that are only a few inches longer than yours, but seem to go on for miles. Her shirt hits the blanket next and you're honestly too far gone to even realize that she probably knows you're staring.

Carmilla's body is like a long line of symmetry. Her eyebrows, her jaw. The muscles in her neck that blend into her collarbones, down to her sides, and melt into her defined abdomen before blooming out at her hips and _down._

"Eyes are up here." She says a little breathlessly.

"What's your tattoo mean?" You ask, turning your head away from her because it's too much, being able to see her like this, and not enough all at the same time.

"This?" She asks, holding her forearm out and walking around you so that the two of you are face to face again. "It's the golden ratio - "

"No." You reach out and press your fingers against the points of the triangle carved into her skin. "This one."

"Delta." She breathes out. "Femininity."

"I like it." You say, pulling your hand away. You have to clear your throat. "Ready to go in?"

"Yeah, I just - " She makes a face. "Can you do me?"

"I'm sorry?"

She rolls her eyes and holds out the sunscreen that you hadn't realized was in her hand, "Just my back, please."

You pray to whoever's out there that you'll be able to last through the weekend.

//

The two of you swim for a few hours before calling it a day. You can feel the waves battering your body even out of the water and Carmilla seems to be similarly affected because she stumbles a few times on your way to the shower stalls.

Swimming has always been something you enjoy and, like most things, you have even more fun when Carmilla does it with you. She plays all of the games you want to play and laughs, but helps you out anyway, when you get seaweed caught in between your toes. It's also a lot easier to have fun with her when she's neck deep in water and you can't see skin that you haven't seen before.

You finish rinsing the ocean water out of your hair and off of your body first so you stand in the sand, waiting for Carmilla. The water looks so inviting that it's unfair. You curse the late afternoon sun for making everything under it a thousand times more beautiful.

"Ready, creampuff?" Carmilla calls from over your shoulder and you turn just in time to see her striding towards you, hair falling over her shoulders, the fabric of her sweater dampened by the strands. Her steps falter and pretty soon you just look like two idiots on the beach, staring at each other with ten feet in between you.

"Yeah." You say, shaking your head to clear your mind. "Yeah, let's go back. I'm hungry."

The path is much more difficult to navigate without the sun directly overhead. You stumble over stray tree roots a few times and Carmilla just chuckles along behind you, her balance having returned from its brief absence. When you get back to camp, you are not surprised to see that all of your friends have congregated at LaF and Perry's.

"Dinner soon!" Perry calls as you and Carmilla walk by.

Your main contribution to dinner is trying, and failing several hundred times, to help Danny start a fire. LaF ends up being the one to get it started in the end, admitting that they had been enjoying you and Danny struggling to do so. The fire comes in handy after one of the best meals you've ever had - camping or no camping - when Perry suggests s'mores for dessert.

All of you gather around the fire, squishing together so that you'd be able to fit on the two logs suitable for sitting. You get trapped in between Carmilla and Kirsch and she smells so much like sea salt and caramel that you don't even bother making up an excuse in your head when you wrap your arms around her waist and lay your head on her shoulder.

The s'more making process is one that Carmilla takes far too seriously. She has three perfect s'mores on the paper plate in your lap before anyone has even managed to toast their marshmallows to golden brown.

"Have one." She says, licking the marshmallow off of her fingers and adjusting the plate and your legs to ensure the safety of her creations. "I promise they're good."

"I'm sleepy." You tell her, your nose brushing against her neck. The conversation around you grows, but Carmilla shows no sign of wanting to take part in it.

"Hm." She says thoughtfully. "I can't eat them all, I'd never make it back up the hill again."

In the end, she ends up giving them to Kirsch in exchange for a ghost story about the frat house that he lives in. The Ghost of Zeta Omega Mu House, as he calls it, quickly becomes one of your favorite stories mainly due to his delivery.

Stories are traded back and forth, but you end up falling asleep in the middle of it all, listening to the low drone of Carmilla's voice with your ear against her body. She wakes you up an undetermined amount of time later and practically carries you back to the tent.

"Why the fuck is it so cold in here?" She mutters around the flashlight in her mouth as she zips the tent back up while also holding you against her. You're wondering the same thing.

Apparently, you figure out after the two of you consult Carmilla's rapidly dying phone, no tree cover not only means no shade, it also means no shelter from the night's cold.

"Great." Carmilla says on a growl and you laugh because the vibration of her body tickles your ear. She flicks your arm. "Why are you laughing? We're going to freeze to death!"

"I'm sure you can figure it out, Carm." You tell her, sleep singing to the blood in your veins. You try to hold back a yawn, but fail. "But can you hurry up? I'm cold and sleepy."

She mumbles to herself over your laughter, but takes your words to heart because pretty soon, she's pushing you in the direction of two air mattresses pushed together.

"I zipped our sleeping bags together too, see?" She smiles proudly and you want to laugh at how adorable she looks but it just makes your heart twinge. "Time to share body heat."

It takes some shifting and a lot of adjusting, but one elbow to the face and accidental slap later, the two of you are finally in a comfortable position inside the now massive sleeping bag. Carmilla squirms beside you and does it again three more times before you muster up the energy to tell her off.

"Stop moving your foot."

"It's not me." She says seriously, turning and hugging you to her instead of trying to settle into the comfortably detached sleeping position she seemed adamant on achieving. "It's the ghost of Zeta Omega Mu house."

You fall asleep mid-laugh.

//

The next day goes similarly to the first one. Card games are played and you are accused of cheating, because you beat them all so easily that you're surprised they know the rules enough to even insinuate that you cheated, and then you and Carmilla go down to the beach after lunch.

You swim a little bit, but the novelty has worn off and afterwards, you want to go back to the tent for a nap, but Carmilla insists on staying so she can read. God, you wish you'd put your foot down because her in glasses and a white shirt thrown over her bikini is a sight that might possibly haunt you until the day you die.

Once you're dry enough, you crowd against her on the blanket to keep from exposing your body to the sun. She huffs, but doesn't complain too much when you nudge and shift her so that you can lie comfortably on her stomach. Her free hand goes to your hair and you you turn your face so that she won't see the blush that rises at the memory of the last time you'd felt her hand on your scalp.

"Move your pretty face off of my ribs." She drawls after a few minutes of your face buried in her shirt. " _God,_ your cheekbones are sharp."

"I'm pretty when you need something, huh?" You try to joke, but the compliment is too fresh in your mind.

"Always pretty." Carmilla says after a pause.

"Thanks." Is all you can say in return.

She reads for who knows how much longer while you drift in and out of consciousness. The sun is almost at the horizon when she finally shakes you awake.

"Time is it?" You ask her, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes. This place must have a way of unearthing the laziness in your bones because you don't think you've ever slept this much during any period of time ever.

"My phone died last night." Carmilla shrugs. "I'm hungry though."

You get into a pointless argument with her about whether or not her stomach can give an accurate measurement of time just to pass the few minutes that the two of you spend packing up. The argument peters out into a comfortable silence once you're on the trail. Once again, the tree roots get to you, but this time, Carmilla is there with a hand at the small of your back to help guide you along.

She starts off at a respectable distance, but soon enough, you're pressed against her side again. Once you're off the trail and on the dirt road, her hand leaves your back and reaches up and around to tuck your hair behind your ears.

The brief touch of her fingers against your skin alerts you to the pounding of your heartbeat in your head and you wonder how you've been able to ignore it for this long because it is _deafening._

You keep walking, though, and it's only when Carmilla curls her arm around the top of your head and presses a kiss to your hair that you stop.

"Please stop." You say in a voice you barely recognize as your own. Carmilla stops walking too and takes a step away from you. She looks stunned and you can't find the words to make her understand why so you throw caution to the wind and just show her.

Her hand shakes underneath yours and it feels cold when you press it against the centre of your chest, but you hold it there and watch her face as she registers what you're trying to tell her.

"You're not doing a good job helping me forget, Carm." You tell her. "Look what you're making it do."

And then you walk away from her because you don't think there's much left to say and you will your body to sleep even though the sun hasn't gone down.

//

You wake up with Carmilla's hand pressed against your jaw.

She doesn't say anything and so neither do you and pretty soon you're falling asleep again.

//

When you wake up a second time to find Carmilla gone, you immediately know she’s either doing something bizarre, like looking at tree branches and measuring their angles in her head, or something entirely too profound for your brain to process at this late hour.

When you see her lying down on a blanket in the middle of the campsite, you think maybe both.

She’s lying completely still and you can admire the length of her legs and the way her hair curls around her jaw. You think her hair is soft. Her skin too. It makes you wonder how she’d feel under your hands.

Which doesn’t help your current state of not going to be able to process Carmilla’s profound thoughts.

Eventually you walk over to her because you feel like the staring’s getting a little creepy, even coming from someone who’s basically been looking at her all summer, longer if you really think about it. It becomes clear as you continue to come closer to her that her eyes are closed and you allow yourself another moment to admire the way her eyelashes brush the tops of her cheekbones before taking one final step.

You should apologize. For earlier, for the past few months. But none of that is in your mind now.

She opens her eyes almost immediately then and you get a little bit lost in the soft look she gives you before her pupils focus.

You’ve tried so hard to keep yourself from wanting her, to file away what she inspires in you as lust because you’ve felt that before and it’s easy to scrub down and get rid of, but every time her eyes meet yours, you know it’s more.

//

Your high starts when Carmilla takes your hand and presses it to her heart, a whispered _please don't stop, look what you're making it do_ slipping through her lips and into your mouth.

Your low begins when she jokes that she can _always just run away from you in the middle of the night again_ and your heart reminds you exactly how that had felt.

//

You don’t sleep again that night. Carmilla does of course, sprawled inside the sleeping bag like a starfish, her hair falling all over her face.

The moment the sun rises; you step out of the tent because you need to not be alone with Carmilla right now. She’s been nothing but soft glances and gentle touches recently and you could have ignored that before and continued living in a beautiful bubble of denial and memory repression, but everything has changed now.

You know that’s an exaggeration, but you can still feel every kiss in the back of your throat, every touch still lingers on your skin, and you can still taste her on your tongue and your brain is throwing up every red light and stop sign possible.

You do not want to go down this road.

She sets something feral loose in your chest and you had been momentarily shocked when she kissed you the first time, but when your brain came back you after what felt like hours, all you could think was that you _need_ her.

But people leave and you don’t – you _shouldn’t_ need anyone other than yourself, so you return the smile she gives you when she sees you sitting at the picnic table with Perry, but you don’t allow yourself to be alone with her for the rest of the day.

//

Your Dad asks you about the trip when you get home and you give him the highlights, but not all of them, and he laughs in all of the right places and tells you to get some rest. You lie down in your bed, but you can’t sleep because you can still feel Carmilla’s breath on your face almost an entire twenty-four hours later.

//

You run by yourself at night instead of in the mornings with Carmilla because you don’t completely trust yourself around her yet. You spend the majority of your time at home, cooking for your Dad, scouting opponents through video clips on YouTube; doing anything to keep your mind off of her and the twist of guilt in your stomach when you think of the texts she’s sent that you haven’t answered.

Those kisses are still playing on a loop in your brain and the way she’d smiled after, all shy and just so happy, is still stuck in your mind.

She wanted you in that moment, even you can see that, but you can’t help but wonder when she’ll decide she no longer does.

//

The doorbell rings on a Friday night and you look at your dad over the cup of tea that you're drinking and you say, "I'm not here."

He sighs, but shuffles over to the door anyway. Your heart flutters when you hear the sound of Carmilla's voice and it's almost like you break out into a cold sweat at the thought of your dad letting her in.

He doesn't. But he does walk back in with a container that he places in front of you. You open it without thinking and all you can do to keep yourself from crying when you see eight cupcakes staring back at you, arranged into the words _I'm sorry,_ is curl your hands into fists.

You want so badly to surrender to everything you feel for her because it's obvious that she feels it, too, but you're terrified and scared she'll run but even more afraid of the runner's blood coursing through your body and the thought that you might someday leave her torn to pieces.

"Did something happen?" Your dad asks. Truthfully, you'd forgotten he was even there.

You don't answer and you move to get up and go to your room instead, but his hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Hey, hey. Laura.” He steps back and studies you for a long moment and you kind of feel like puking under his gaze. “I think I know what’s going on here.”

He pulls up a barstool so he can sit next to you and you’re kind of frozen in place at this point because you know what’s going on, too. No matter how much you want to deny it.

“When I first met your mother, I thought to myself that she’s one in a million.” He takes your hand and a sad smile crosses his face. “I wasn’t wrong. She was – no one else laughed like her or smiled like her and you know what? Odds are no one will leave like her, pumpkin.”

You’re crying because you want to believe him so badly and you’ve been feeling this constant ache for Carmilla all week that you don’t know how to deal with and you’re terrified of how much you seem to need her.

“It’s okay.” He says, pulling you into an embrace. “It’s okay.”

“I’m scared, Dad.”

You are, Christ, you don’t remember ever feeling this scared before. And that’s stupid because you have never felt as safe as you did lying beside her on that blanket with her hands cupping your jaw and her lips on yours, but here you are, scared of how much damage she can inflict with those same hands.

“What do I always say?”

“You miss all of the shots you don’t take.” You answer automatically.

“That’s right.” He smooths your hair back and it helps soothe you a little. “And there’s no one I’d trust more to make a shot than you, Laura.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need us, we are [here](http://itmustbebunnies.tumblr.com) and [here](http://sedinbrothers.tumblr.com).


	15. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August and Everything After.
> 
> (That's a Counting Crows album. But also a perfect chapter summary.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are always so grateful that you guys take time out of your days to read our brainchild. Like, 3k kudos? That's out of this world! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. This is a little token of gratitude.

“Hey.” You say, watching her lips curl into _your_ smile, the one you’ve noticed she only uses when it’s only the two of you around and your heart starts doing its best impression of a kickdrum.

“Hey.” She says and you take her invitation to lie down beside her.

It’s the worst idea you’ve ever had because all of a sudden, your senses are flooded with Carmilla, like how the back of her hand feels warm against your own and how she smells like the ocean.

“What are you doing up?” She asks and the lilt of her voice warms your chest despite you doing your best to resist wanting every part of her.

“I could be asking you the same thing.” You reply, thinking of how much you want to see her like this every day, all soft edges and open smiles. You want to hold her hand.

She asks you something then and you’re still having a debate with yourself in your head about the hand holding so you have to parrot the question back at her before you think _screw it_ and your wrists bump together at first, but you’re able to feel the lines of her palms against your own soon enough.

The way she laces her fingers through yours makes you sigh her name out.

“Yes, cupcake?”

_Do you know what you’re doing to me?_

Instead you ask, “What are you doing?”

It’s a short time before she answers, “Looking at the stars.”

You look up at them too and you have no idea what any of them are called or if you’re looking at a constellation, but you see one that seems a little smaller than the rest, a lot more alone, and you think it’s beautiful nonetheless.

“Yeah it is.” Carmilla says then and you turn to her, ready to make a comment about how she’s failed to mention she can read minds, but then she’s leaning forward and you close your eyes when you feel her nose brush against yours.

 _You’ve been here before_ , you remind the traitorous heart that’s pounding so hard inside your chest that you’re sure it’s going to bruise itself against your sternum. You want to will yourself to be calm, but it’s no use, not when you remember exactly how she tastes like peppermint or the exact shade of pink her cheeks had turned last time you had been this close to each other.

She moves slowly, but you’re _still_ shocked by the press of her lips against your own and you are still for a moment before you register exactly just how much you want to kiss her back and so you let go of her hand and let yours tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her closer to you if that’s possible.

And you think _she’s so soft_.

After a moment, she opens her mouth underneath yours and you don’t hesitate to take advantage. A part of you aches at the thought that this is how it always is with the two of you, Carmilla giving so willingly and you selfishly taking. You can’t seem to stop doing that, though. Not when she looks at you like she wants to put the whole world in the palm of your hand. You think she already has every time she holds your hand.

Not to mention the way she kisses you.

You’d thought, perhaps foolishly, that maybe she didn’t feel the same rush in her blood that you feel whenever you’re together. But it’s a cop out and even you can’t lie to yourself about how she truly feels when she’s kissing you like this, her hands cradling your face so gently that your heart swells.

So you stop holding back - because you’ve been holding back when it comes to her for so long now - and you let your instincts take over. You’re so focused on just _feeling_ that Carmilla’s breath hitching, of all things, is what alerts you to the fact that you’ve pushed yourself on top of her.

She makes a noise. Something between a whimper and a moan, when you let your weight settle atop her frame. Her hands find your waist and you revel at how warm her palms feel - even through the fabric of your shirt - before you direct your focus back to kissing her. You could probably kiss her forever. Everything about her - the soft swell of her lips, her _tongue_ \- feels like an extension of your own.

Or maybe your body is an extension of hers; you can’t say you really mind which way around it is, as long as it’s you and Carmilla.

You’re panting against her mouth before long and you’d say something about how she’s literally made you forget how to breathe, but she pushes herself up to chase your lips and your mind blanks. The thought of taking this further than just making out crosses your mind when her tongue slips into your mouth. You can feel the urgency with every insistent press of her lips against yours, but she keeps her hands steady on your waist.

Logically, you know Carmilla is a bad idea.

She's gotten under your skin more times than you can count and your insides clench when you remember all the times she's seen through the cracks of the mask you know you tend to put on and yes, you also know Carmilla has the potential to hurt you more than anything ever has simply because she has _so much_ of you.

But here you are again - wanting - and, like every other time, Carmilla gives.

You take her willing hands and guide them under your shirt, pushing them up past your waist. When the pads of her fingers brush against the skin of your ribs for the first time, your breath catches in your throat and your own hands drop to grip at her forearms. She’s careful with the touching, slow, methodical, almost like she’s counting your bones. But then her hands move to settle on your sides, her thumbs pressed against the undersides of your breasts and you can’t even stop the moan that rips its way out of your throat.

She stiffens at the sound and says _tent_ before pulling her hands away and you can't stop the whine that comes out of your mouth in response because you're so desperate for her at this point that it's embarrassing.

You're barely on your feet, though, before her lips are back on yours and your palms start itching because _God_ , she’s a good kisser and you have never wanted anything more than you want to feel her skin against yours, so you tug on her wrists and then it’s a blur, the two of you stumbling back towards the tent, your legs wrapped tightly around her waist.

Soon enough, she's dropping you and her hands are working to unzip the tent entrance. You move to walk in, but she's picking you up again before you can even take a step and then depositing you onto the air mattress. The bounce pushes you into a sitting position at the edge of the mattress and you stretch your legs out in front of you, feeling how tightly you’d wound them around Carmilla in the stiff muscles. The fact that your legs are in worse shape now - after five minutes of clutching Carmilla to you - than you ever recall them being post-game makes you laugh a little.

“Something funny?” Carmilla asks, turning away from the zipper and crawling over to where you’re sat. You smile at her because _what else_ can you do when the girl you never thought you could have a chance with has a hand resting on your thigh while she twirls a lock of your hair with the other?

Carmilla smiles back, then bites her lip before exhaling sharply through her nose and climbing into your lap. You have _no idea_ what to do with your hands.

"This okay?"

You shake your head at the fact that she thought she even had to ask before you tilt your head so you can kiss her again. Carmilla's response is immediate and she bites playfully at your bottom lip before pulling away.  
  
If it even counts as pulling away.  
  
"Mixed signals, sweetheart." She says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You grab on to her hips, and pull so that her weight rests fully in your lap. You don't think she has ever looked more beautiful than she does in this moment. Her cheeks are pink, eyes bright and glassy. The calm expression on her face is a stark contrast to the frantic need that's probably evident in your own.

"I just couldn't believe you even had to ask."  
  
She hums and ducks her head to dust kisses along your jawline. There’s not much you can do but lean back, close your eyes, and let yourself get lost in the feeling. Carmilla’s hand comes to rest on the small of your back and you thread yours through her hair when she tips your chin back and trails her lips over your throat.

Your brain wants to compare this to electricity, to fireworks. But you don’t think any of those analogies can really describe the fact that there’s about a million cells in your body calling out for hers. For the first time that you can remember, it isn’t about results or release; no, this is all about Carmilla.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” She whispers against your skin before pushing aside the neckline of your shirt and sucking a hickey where your neck and shoulder meet. You groan in response and she repeats the motion.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t hold my breath for that one if I were you.”

She pulls back a little and arches an eyebrow at you, her hands playing with the hem of your shirt. When you nod, she tugs it up over your head. Carmilla gives several long blinks before pressing her lips back to yours. Some time later - you’re no longer sure you can provide an accurate measure of how much time has passed since you grabbed her hand outside - you feel her hands slide up to the clasp of your bra. She undoes it easily and your breath catches when she stands and disconnects herself from you.

“Lie back.” She says, head ducked to keep from hitting the roof of the tent. A rush of courage overtakes you and you pull your bra off and toss it aside before following her instructions. The pillow feels cool against your head, but the rest of your body feels like it’s burning up.

“Clothes off.” You return, holding her gaze.

She shrugs and starts stripping her clothes off without fanfare. Your hands twitch when her shirt comes off and by the time she’s completely, totally, naked in front of you, you’re pretty sure you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

"Carmilla." You say because you want to touch. She murmurs a _yes_ under her breath before once again draping herself over you, a thigh wedged in between yours. You both gasp when skin meets skin.

She kisses you again and grinds her hips. The moan that comes out of her mouth sends a flash of heat through your body.

“Why are these still on?” She asks, looking down, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings. You take advantage of her momentary distraction to reverse your positions and you revel in her gasp when your fingers land on the points of her tattoo.

The soft look in her eyes is mesmerizing and so you hold eye contact while you trail your hand down past her hip and down the outside of her thigh. You urge her knee up before closing your eyes and pressing your mouth to the angry, puckered, line of her scar.

Carmilla’s shaky exhale is audible even past the heartbeat thundering in your ears.

“If you want me to stop - “

Carmilla shakes her head and finds your free hand. You don’t understand what’s happening until the heel of your palm is pressed against the center of her chest.

“Please don’t stop.” She says, pushing herself up to kiss you. Her heart is racing under your touch. “Look what you’re making it do.”

You nod and press one last kiss to her lips before mapping your way down her body. Carmilla’s back practically arches off of the mattress when you take an already peaked nipple into your mouth and she whines deep in her throat when you suck on the skin in between the points of her tattoo.

She shifts her hips impatiently and when you finally feel somewhat satisfied with your exploration, it’s easy enough to slip your hand down the flat expanse of her abdomen before sinking two fingers into her. Her high-pitched moan makes you smile.

“Laura.” Carmilla says when you hold yourself still above her, fascinated by the way her pupils are completely blown out. “Please.”

You move slowly at first, letting her get accustomed to the stretch. But then she starts thrusting her hips against your hand and all rhythm and consideration goes out the window because you’re suddenly so _so_ lost in her that you will never be able to recover.

And the way she feels around your fingers -

Your brain gathers enough presence of mind to angle your hand so that your palm can grind against her clit with each thrust and Carmilla honest to god whimpers before her muscles clench impossibly tight around you. It takes only a few more thrusts and your fingers curling and then she’s letting out a breathy _Laura_ and gasping out profanities as she comes.

You use your free hand to lead her mouth back to yours in a messy kiss when you’re no longer afraid she’ll pass out and you can feel her breath against your face and you feel like nothing can touch you in this moment

Carmilla looking up at you, her eyes filled with something akin to wonder, is an image now imprinted in the walls of your brain.

You honestly don’t know what good you’ve done in the world to make you deserving of being able to feel Carmilla fall apart under your hands, but you have never been so thankful in your life.

“And,” Carmilla draws the word out into several syllables, her shaky hand grasping at the material of your pants. Her breathing has yet to return to normal and you kiss her again, unable to keep yourself from chasing the way she tastes on your tongue.“These are _still_ on.”

A laugh escapes you and you manoeuvre yourself so you can kick off the offending pieces of clothing before coming back to your perch atop her. You both groan when your wetness comes into contact with her thigh.

Carmilla raises her hand and grabs yours murmuring _show me how to touch you, sweetheart_ before her fingers descend and the air in your lungs magically vanish at the reverence evident in the way she touches you even with your hand uselessly atop hers.

“Seems like you don’t need any instruction.” You manage to choke out and she laughs, and continues her aimless stroking for a few more moments before she begins focusing her attention on your clit. You move your hand off of hers so you can brace yourself against the mattress when you fall forward.

You no longer know which way is up or down or what exactly Carmilla is doing to make you see stars and when it gets to be too much, you bite down on her shoulder to keep from screaming her name as spasm after spasm rolls through your body.

“Oh my god.” You say, collapsing on top of her. She presses an adoring kiss to your neck and it makes you shudder.

“Again?” You ask her when you’ve got your breathing under control.

She’s smiling and her eyes are still soft and you just _know_ you’ve lost your heart all over again.

“Or I can always run away from you in the middle of the night again.” She jokes and your mind flashes back to that time she kissed you in your driveway. You don’t think you can survive Carmilla walking away from you like that again. Especially after tonight. “But I like this option better.”

You hum in agreement and you hope the sound of her moans will be enough to erase the thoughts from your mind.

 

* * *

 

You're on a high for a solid forty-eight hours after the night you spend with Laura in that tent.  
  
It's ridiculous, really, but all it takes is a few seconds with your eyes closed for the images to start flooding in - the way her back arched when you slipped your fingers inside of her, or the way she shook underneath your mouth as you finally gave in to your desires and tasted her for the first time.  
  
You've read books all your life - they'd been your escape for a long time - but you never really understood the adage of _'mapping someone's body'._ There was no way your brain could wrap itself around the idea that the human body could have hills and valleys, roads and villages. That was just _dumb._  
  
But then you got Laura naked and moaning underneath you and you _finally_ understood.  
  
You could see it so easily. The small dip of her stomach right as it descended from the hills of her breasts; the valley between them where you placed a very purple hickey as Laura gripped your hair so strongly and urged you not to stop.  
  
Your hands had moved against her skin as if following roads to a particular destination and every turn you took led you to discover a place you hadn't been before.  
  
It was then that you came to a realization: you've never wanted to explore anything more than Laura's body. And if it took years of you getting lost in it so that you could finally map every curve and every bit of skin, then so be it.  
  
The idea of losing yourself had never been more appealing.  
  
//  
  
It's only when Laura doesn't show up for your morning run that you realize maybe something is wrong.  
  
You try texting and then calling her when you don't get a reply for _hours_ and you're pretty sure your heart drops to the ground when the call is sent to voicemail after two rings.  
  
A part of you tries to stay positive; maybe she's just busy with something and that's why you haven't heard from her ever since you got back, despite the fact that Laura had basically spent her summer living at your apartment.  
  
And then you remember how she barely looked at you on your last day of camping and how her smiles seemed just a little bit forced when you and your friends had gotten together for meals and other stuff before you got back and - _oh._  
  
You think that even if you hated math you would have no problem putting two and two together to solve that equation.  
  
//  
  
You run by her house a couple days later because she _still_ hasn't answered any of your texts and your brain is starting to come up with worst-case scenarios and you just need to make sure that she's okay.  
  
The curtains of her room are slightly open and you can see her shadow moving inside. You're not really surprised that she's awake at this godforsaken hour; Laura is a creature of habit and she _had_ been running with you in the mornings for the past year.  
  
Your heart kicks in your chest at the idea that she might be getting ready to join you again, maybe explain why she hasn't been around for the last few days. The idea of seeing Laura after all that has happened between the both of you has your skin tingling and your hands sweating but you take a deep breath and you try to keep your cool.  
  
Five minutes go by and she doesn't come out. You don't see any movement in her room anymore and you think maybe she's downstairs filling up water bottles, so you wait a bit longer.  
  
_Come on, Laura._ Your brain wills her as you keep your gaze focused on her front door, your eyes barely blinking.  
  
It's another twenty minutes before you realize that she has no intention of leaving the house.  
  
//  
  
That morning, you push yourself past your limits and you run the fastest you've ran since your accident.  
  
//  
  
You sleep with an ice pack over your knee that night, take the first painkiller you've taken in months and you don't run for the rest of the week because you can barely keep yourself upright without feeling the consequences of your actions.  
  
It feels as if you've just screwed up months of progress and you hate yourself for being so careless.  
  
(You wish you were only talking about your injury.)  
  
//  
  
It's Friday morning when you decide that enough is enough.  
  
It feels as if you've been playing games with Laura for the past year and, truthfully, you don't think you can handle it anymore.  
  
You can't bring yourself to regret the moments you spent worshipping her body and you wouldn't do things differently if you had the chance because that means that you'd never get to experience the feeling of having Laura at her most vulnerable state underneath you - not a single mask, not a single wall between the both of you.  
  
You had never shared anything so special with anyone in all of your life.  
  
But in doing so - in giving in to your desires - you had pushed Laura away once again.  
  
It seemed that you had a knack for doing that, really.  
  
And you'd make the decision that you weren't gonna hide your feelings from Laura anymore and you had every intention of sticking to that, but it's clear that she isn't ready to deal with all of that yet.  
  
It's like two steps forward and a million steps back with the two of you and you can't help - you can't help but wonder when those steps will send Laura too far out of your reach for things to ever be okay between the two of you again.  
  
The thought of never kissing her again sends a sharp pain thought your heart, but it's nothing compared to how it just _breaks_ a little when you consider not having Laura in your life at all.  
  
You've experienced a lot of pain in your life, and you've realized that sometimes you can't just escape from it. Sometimes you need to choose what hurts _less_ and just endure it as best as you can.  
  
//  
  
You call Perry and you ask for a goddamn cupcake recipe.  
  
She's confused at first and then thrilled at the idea that you're baking for Laura and you realize that whatever is going on between the two of you is not something that Laura has shared with her friends.  
  
You don't know whether to be glad that she's keeping this private or hurt that she doesn't think it's something worth sharing with the people closest to her.  
  
(But then you think of how you haven't mentioned anything to your friends either, and well, that speaks for itself.)  
  
Perry sends you a picture of her grandmother's super secret recipe and makes you pinky swear not to share it with anyone, not even if your life is threatened, and you feel a little stupid doing all of that over a freaking cupcake recipe, but you promise it anyway because it's Laura and you need to fix things and at this point you're so far gone that what is a little promise anyway?  
  
You then go out and you get the ingredients and you start baking.  
  
//  
  
There's a possibility that you burn a few batches before you manage to get it right.  
  
You find out that baking is a surprisingly good task to clear your mind, but, in consequence, that also means you have nothing to focus on, so you keep thinking of Laura and Laura's body and Laura's ragged breaths as you touched her and her red cheeks as she panted beneath you and - _well,_ it's no wonder you forget to set the timer when you first put the cupcakes to bake.

And then you somehow don’t hear it ringing the _second_ time around, and it’s only when the smell of burned batter takes over your apartment that you realize you forgot the damn thing in the oven _again._

It’s a wonder your fire alarm doesn’t go off.

(You even get on a chair to make sure that it isn’t broken.)

(Thankfully it isn’t, so that’s one less thing you need to worry about.)

Apparently the third time really _is_ the charm, though, because you get the recipe right and you’re _right there_ when the timer rings. They even look good, which is something to say, considering they struggle you went through.

The frosting is easier, for some reason. You picked red and yellow because they’re Silas colors and it reminded you of how good Laura would look wearing your hockey clothes, much like she did basically all summer.

You don’t want to be like those idiot boys that make their girlfriends wear their lettermans as a sign of possession, but _God,_ you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t make your heart beat faster in your chest to think of Laura as _your girlfriend._

And then you have to scoff at yourself; you’re barely _friends_ now, it’s stupid of you to think you even have a chance of being more than that.

//

When you finish frosting the cupcakes, you carefully arrange them in a tupperware and you walk to Laura’s house.

Once again, you find yourself standing at her door, watching as the figures move inside, lights turning on and off as - who you assume is Laura - goes from her room to somewhere else in the house.

Nearly half an hour goes by before you muster up the courage to ring the doorbell. You think of maybe just leaving the baked goods at her door, or even not leaving them _at all,_ but you finally decide that you’re done being a coward when it comes to the things you want in your life, so you let your finger press against the small button next to her door and you wait and wait and wait.

The sight of Coach Hollis standing next to you is not something you expect, but you don’t let yourself falter in your resolve.

“Night, Coach.” You say, shifting from one foot to the other as you try to look behind him for a glance of Laura. “Uh, is Laura home?”

He looks uncomfortable for a second, and it throws you off for a moment, because you thought that things between the two of you had cleared out.

It’s only when he lets out a heavy sigh and opens his mouth that you understand it has nothing to do with your previous grievances. “I’m sorry, Karnstein. Laura isn’t home right now.”

You don’t even have to tell him that you’ve _seen_ Laura walking inside, because you can tell that he doesn’t want to be lying for his daughter, but he’s still her father so it’s not like he has a choice, exactly. And you can’t blame him, not really.

He’s not the one breaking your heart.

You hand him the tupperware and you try your best to keep your tears from falling. “Could you give this to her, please?” 

“Of course.” He says, taking the container from you. Then, he clears his throat. “Have a good night, Carmilla.”

You give him a nod and you turn on your heels as fast as you can. There aren’t any words left for you to say and you don’t think you’d be able to push them out even if that were the case.

All week you’d been trying to fight the idea that Laura had been ignoring you, but that’s exactly what was happening. And that broke you inside, but even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to want her any less. You couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at her for pushing you away.

You try to focus on everything that ever went wrong between the both of you, try to remember the annoying girl from high school that irritated you so much. But all of that is gone. All you have left is the memory of soft touches and a smile that could chase away even the deepest darkness and you’re so, so, _so lost._

Because you’re in love with Laura Hollis. 

And Laura Hollis is not in love with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, fun stuff: we have an [ask blog](http://bsau-asks.tumblr.com/) now! So just head over there if you wanna yell at us.


	16. September - Junior Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: the one where Carmilla is an idiot for Laura and Laura is even more of an idiot for Carmilla.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the people who've had a less than stellar week. We hope this can make it a little bit better.

Your junior year starts with a lecture on Computability and Logic and you can't help but be thankful for it.

It takes ten minutes after you walked into the lecture hall for your professor to start going on about Gödel’s first and second incompleteness theorems and you find yourself hanging on his every word because it’s easier to discuss the consequences of those theorems in proof theory and model theory than it is to think about Laura’s lips, Laura’s hands - just, _Laura._

But the more you pay attention to your lecture, the more you think of her. Your professor spills out words about contradictions and not being able to prove that something is true without saying that it isn’t and your mind flashes back to how Laura fucked you and then left, how she held you close only to push you away - how she wanted you and then she didn’t.

How there’s no bigger contradiction in your life than Laura Hollis.

And then you want to smack your forehead against the closest surface because you didn’t sign up for this. You didn’t sign up for hours and hours of picking apart every single interaction you’ve had with her just to figure out _where_ it is you went wrong.

You only wanted to make her yours. You just can't understand how that could have backfired so badly.

//

You’re walking out of class one day when your phone buzzes in your pocket and you hate yourself a little for how fast you reach for it, but you completely _loathe_ the way your shoulders just fall with disappointment when you find a text from Mattie instead of Laura’s name on the screen.

A part of you knows that you should be happy for the chance of mending your relationship with your sister, but the honest truth is that you can barely bring yourself to care about this right now. All you can think about is Laura, Laura, _Laura_ and how everyday that goes by without you touching her feels like the worst kind of torture you could possibly experience in your life.

**Mattie (4:37 P.M.):**

Maman called. Darling William graduated and disappeared from her sight. Have you heard from him?

You furrow your brows at the words staring back at you, because _no, you haven’t._ And, despite everything, you always thought that if your brother were to ever defy your mother, you’d be the first person he’d reach out to. But you know for a fact that graduation was months ago - you managed to sneak him a gift using Mattie’s contacts - and still there’d been no sign of Will, not even in the form of a thank-you note.

Before you can reply to Mattie’s text, however, you feel the skin on the back of neck prickling and you feel _hot_ all of a sudden.

You want to say you’re surprised to find Laura standing in front of you, blocking your path in what feels like yet another metaphor for how she won’t let you move _forward_ but won’t come to you either, and it’s like the last couple of weeks catch up to you and you’re just _so tired._

There are words running through your brain about how you want her back, about how you’ll do things differently if she’ll just let you in, but then she says your name and it makes your skin boil because you _shouldn’t_ be thinking of ways to apologize to her. You already did that. You already humiliated yourself for her and she didn’t even acknowledge your efforts.

She kept on ignoring you and she probably would’ve continued to do so if Silas University wasn’t such a goddamn nutshell.

You think that you should just leave. Walk away. Because you can’t read the way Laura is looking at you and it doesn’t look as if she’s planning on saying anything else, so there’s really no point in dragging this any further. You’re already hurting too much, five more seconds in her presence and it’s likely that you’ll end up in tears.

You’ve cried for her before, but you _refuse_ to do it again.

So you meet her gaze and you let out an empty laugh, shaking your head at how much of a bitch fate is, and you walk away.

And if it feels as if something about Laura is trying to pull you back, you ignore it.

(Even magnets lose their strength eventually.)

//

You're in a booth with Kirsch and Danny, taking an entire side to yourself as they sit opposite to you, being the kind of ridiculous they've taken to be since they got their shit together and actually did something about all that unresolved sexual tension they've had for as long as you've known them.

It's disgusting, but you're happy for your friends, even if a little jealous.

They texted you about celebrating going back to school and you took barely a second before you agreed. It seemed like a fucked up thing to be happy about, but the idea of alcohol was enough to convince you, even if it was the middle of the week and you had a lecture the following day.

It’s mindless distraction, and you’ve been in need of that lately.

As if to make a point to yourself, you glance down at your phone, pressing the standby key and watching the screen flash to life, only to heave a sigh of disappointment at the lack of notifications on it.

You should know better by now.

"Okay, so," Kirsch starts as he settles down his beer and you shove your phone in your pocket with a little more frustration than you mean to. "How do you feel about season starting again?"

You hadn’t really thought about it, actually. There's been a lot of skating with Kirsch - and lately Danny - and a lot of running with Laura - you lock your jaw at the thought of her, because there _had_ been, at least - but you haven't actually thought about the fact that season will be starting again and you'll be playing for real instead of just _being_ in the rink.

So you shrug, "The show must go on, right? It'll happen whether I'm ready or not."

Danny leans back against him and takes a sip of whatever weird concoction she's chosen for the night, "Please. Those assholes won't know what hit them."

You tilt your glass towards her, "Right back at ya, Giant. I won't screw up your senior year, don't worry."

Kirsch laughs and presses a kiss to the side of Danny's face and she grins as she tilts her head and meets his lips in a kiss. It's short and sweet, and any other time, it really wouldn't bother you. But tonight you can't bear the sight of it, so you flick a piece of paper at them and you make a gagging noise.

"Stop being gross."

Kirsch picks up the napkin and throws it back at you, "Dude, like you're one to talk."

"What do you mean?" You ask, narrowing your eyes at him as Danny tries to hide her smile behind her glass.

He rolls his eyes at you, "You and _Laura_ ." He says, as if it's obvious what he means and you want to get up and leave because there's no _you and Laura_ , and even the thought of her has your blood boiling in your veins.

You take a long sip of your bourbon and try not to give anything away when you ask, "What about Laura and I?"

"Where _is_ she, by the way?" Danny asks, before Kirsch can even say anything, and you ignore the sharp pain that shoots through your heart and the way your hands twitch to grab your phone. It hasn't vibrated so you know there's nothing there for you, just like there hasn’t been for the past week and a half.

"How am I supposed to know?" You shrug, finishing your drink and signaling the waitress for another one.

She's cute and she's been giving you looks the whole night, but she's not _Laura_ . And you hate that you even got to a point where you're making the comparison, but it's useless to deny now how much you want her, _crave_ her, really. Maybe you _should_ talk to the waitress. It probably wouldn’t take more than a wink and a nod to have her head between your legs by the end of the night.

And then you wouldn’t have to think of Laura, the way you could see the small dots of blood that rushed to her face as she rode your fingers, how you can still feel the pain from where her nails dug too hard on your skin as she came with your name on her lips, or how she just tastes so _right_ and you never want to even think of having anyone else if it means you might forget how Laura feels against your lips.

The cute waitress sets down your drink with a wink and you down half of it in a single gulp. You’re only fooling yourself by thinking you can let anyone touch you the way that Laura did.

You knew she was gonna ruin you, and you were right. You just didn’t think the flame would burn as fast as it did.

"You two have been attached at the hip lately," Kirsch explains with a nonchalant shrug, and you try not to think of how drunk you’re gonna be if he keeps up with this conversation. "I figured she would be here tonight."

You flash the waitress again, "Well, she's not. So whatever."

It seems that your rapidly increasing alcohol consumption is enough to make Kirsch realize that _maybe_ you're not in a mood to have a conversation about Laura, because he immediately drops the subject and brings out the upcoming NHL season, which you're only too happy to talk about because it's the one thing in your life that Laura hasn't managed to touch yet, not really.

Except that she has, because Laura has touched _everything_.

(You feel the bile rising in your throat and you wish the accuracy of that stupid statement didn’t hurt so much.)

By the time you finish your fifth glass of bourbon you think you're ready to call it a night. You could probably drink more, but that would make you an even worse company than you already are at the moment, and you don’t want for Kirsch and Danny to have to deal with that. It’s your own mess and they have no business trying to clean it up, which you know they _will_ , if you let things get out of hand.

They’re idiots, but they’re good friends.

And it's only Wednesday. You’re a wreck, but you’re trying to keep yourself together - at least enough to make it through the week. When Friday rolls around and you don’t have to run and practice, you can hold your private pity party, just as you did the weekend before.

You try not to make excuses for yourself, like how running without Laura feels kinda pointless now; you were a hockey player before she ever became important to you and she doesn't have the right to take every single thing in your life and make it about her.

But then Kirsch and Danny start to become extremely gross, so you decide you've had enough. You can feel the way your body is starting to feel more loose and your brain-to-mouth filter is starting to become nonexistent; you don’t want to end up doing something you might regret tomorrow.

So you throw a few bills on the table to cover your part of the tab and you slip out of the booth, "I'm out, losers."

"Hey," Kirsch furrows his brows at you, and nudges Danny. "We'll walk you back."

Danny nods and rushes to finish her drink, but you shake your head, "It's less than two blocks, I don't think I'm in danger." You smirk. "If I see anyone sketchy, I'll _run_."

And it feels good to know that it's something you can do again, but they probably know as well as you do that if you tried to run in your current state you wouldn’t even make two steps before tripping on your feet and falling headfirst on the concrete.

Which is probably why Kirsch doesn't seem to appreciate the joke - if the way he rolls his eyes is any indication - but Danny elbows his side and he lets out a sigh as he nods at you.

"Fine, whatever." He pauses. "Text me when you get home."

You roll your eyes, "Sure thing, _Dad_."

He huffs, and though he still looks concerned, he waves you away, "Get out of here, asshole."

You wave at them and you don't miss the way the waitress's shoulders drop and her lips curl into a pout as you walk out of the bar without throwing a second glance at her, but you have to get away from her while you still have enough presence of mind to know how bad of an idea it is to take her home with you.

(Or just fuck her in the bathroom and leave.)

The wind is cool around you, but your flannel shirt is still pulled up to your elbows and you're not wearing a jacket. You'd probably be freezing if it weren't for the alcohol in your system, but as it is, you're still glad you decided to forego anymore layers. It helps sober you up, which is both a blessing and a curse. You don’t want to be dying tomorrow, but having the effect of the alcohol wearing off also means that Laura can slip back in your mind.

You can’t help but let out a bitter laugh; as if she’d ever left to begin with.

But still, it’s good to feel the cold air hitting your skin. It takes you back to the ice rink and how you've never felt more at home in a place than you do there. For a few blissful moments, you get to think of something else other than Laura and how she's still not returning your texts even after she nearly walked _right_ into you and how much of an _idiot_ you just feel with this whole game of hot and cold you've been playing for the past months.

You want her. You want her so badly that sometimes it hurts more than your crappy knee and your fucked up brain. Putting yourself back together after the end of freshman year had been the most painful thing you had to do in your life, yet sometimes you feel as if Laura is trying to break you all over again.

Things were better when you didn't like her. Things were better when you didn’t know what it felt like to have her writhing and moaning under you, begging you to touch her and give her the release she craved so much.

Except that's a lie, because your life didn't really make _sense_ before Laura. Hockey did, but there was nothing else. She opened your eyes to a whole world you had been missing and you don't think you can go back to living a life that doesn't include her.

Which obviously sucks for you, because Laura seems intent on ending the brief history of your friendship. And what makes it all worse is that you _knew_ this was gonna happen. You knew that she was only gonna fuck you and leave you and yet you still went through with it, because you wanted her too much and you thought that maybe things would be different.

That maybe you meant more to her than just a few orgasms.

(Especially considering how mind blowing they were.)

But it seems that you’ve been right from the start and Laura only wanted for you to scratch an itch before she moved on to someone else, and as you turn the corner to your building and pull out your phone to text Kirsch a brief _'home & alive', _ you can’t help but feel the urge to _punch_ something.

You make a mental note to text Kirsch tomorrow so that you two can hit the gym, because you’ve learned that keeping this frustration bottled inside of you isn’t _healthy_ , but that quickly vanishes from your mind once your reach your front porch and find someone sitting there.

(Maybe you're drunker than you've thought.)

"Hey." She says, and you have to blink three times to make sure that you're not imagining her.

But when you open your eyes, Laura is still sitting on the steps of your building, looking small and fragile in one of her oversized football jerseys - this one is white with black lines on the shoulder and three other thin lines (red, black and gold) diagonally cutting across the shirt - and you can't help but think that she looks _beautiful_.

You hate yourself for being so weak when it comes to Laura.

"Hey." You twist your keys around your finger, not daring to move any closer to her, still fearing that she might disappear if you do.

She looks down and plays with her fingers, "I buzzed but you didn't answer, so I figured I'd wait here..."

"And you didn't think to call me?" You bite out, and Laura's gaze snap to meet yours. "Or, I don't know, maybe _text_ me? Say _something_ when you ran into me? Jesus Christ, Laura."

You run your hand through your hair and let it drop to your side before you move past her and open the door to your building; whatever _this_ is, you're not doing it out on the street.

Laura follows you without a word, and she doesn't look at you as you wait for the elevator doors to open. You realize it’s a really unfortunate idea to take them because you don't think you can be in such a small space with her without trying to touch her in _some_ way. And the thought that you still want her even after almost two weeks of radio silence makes you feel disgusted with yourself.

You should probably take the stairs.

The sound of the elevator's doors opening before you effectively ruins that particular plan, so you walk in and press the number 3 before closing your eyes and letting your head fall against the metal, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

This is harder than you imagined.

But then you feel a body pressed against yours right before hands are cupping your cheeks and soft lips are taking your own in a kiss that's desperate and _intense_ and that you you would have gladly returned a week ago, but that now just seems to increase your frustration tenfold.

You sigh against Laura's mouth, and you think of all the ways you could just let this play out as you’re sure it will, but if there’s anything you’ve learned in your months of recovery is that you have to love _yourself_ . You have to be able to distance yourself from things that are bad for you and right now, this _thing_ with Laura, is not healthy.

You missed the way she tastes like chocolate chip cookies and strawberry lip gloss, and you don't want to be thinking of anything else right now other than how much you love this particular combination, but somewhere within yourself, you find the strength to push her back.

“Stop.” You tell her, and you have no words to explain how hard it is to keep your hand against her chest when she tries to kiss you again, but you don’t budge.

She looks up at you then, eyes wide and searching, and she whispers a soft _I’m sorry, Carm_ just as the elevator doors open up to your floor.

And you want for things to be simple, for them to be fixed with just a kiss and an apology, but they're _not_. They can't. Because you can’t shake the feeling that if you do that, Laura is just gonna keep treating you like a toy she can pick up and drop whenever she feels like it, but you know you’re worth more than that.

It might have taken you some time, but you do now. And you can’t excuse Laura’s actions when they’re hurting you so much.

Still, you take her hand and you pull her into your apartment and you can't help yourself when you press a soft kiss to her lips when you close the door. You can’t excuse her actions, but you also can’t deny how much you _need_ her.

"What are we doing, Laura?" You ask her, because you need to know what is happening. You can't keep running after her, trying to make sense of the mixed signals she keeps sending you when you feel like you’re losing a part of yourself every time you do so.

She wraps her arms around your waist and presses her face to the curve of your neck and you _should_ keep her away, try to protect the little of your heart that she hasn’t managed to steal yet, but it’s too late for that. You’ve given her _everything_ and you’ll continue to do so even if you never get anything of Laura’s in return. It’s wrong and unhealthy and every logical thought in your brain is telling you to run as fast as you can in the opposite direction, but you’ve already accepted that you can’t apply logic to Laura.

She defies all of that.

And then you feel something wet against your shirt and you realize Laura is _crying_ and you feel your heart crumbling in your chest because it shouldn’t be this _hard_.

"Hey, hey," you pull her face back, cupping her cheeks and wiping her tears with the tip of your thumbs. "Talk to me, Cupcake."

Laura closes her eyes and lets out a heavy breath. Her body presses closer to yours and she moves her hands to grip your wrists.

"Go on a date with me."

You swear your heart is gonna beat out of your chest in that moment. And you want nothing more than to say _yes_ , a thousand times yes, but this isn't right; not yet.

"Laura," you say, and her name falls from your lips like a prayer. "You've been ignoring me for the past week. You looked right into my eye and you didn’t even know what _to say_ .” You exhale heavily, running a hand through your hair. “We kissed. Hell, we had _sex_. And I know that’s not new for you, but I’m not like those girls you always find at those parties and I-"

She presses the tip of her index finger against your lips, effectively stopping your speech.

Her mouth curves in a small smile and your heart flutters at the sight, and you’re such an _idiot_ for this girl, it’s ridiculous.

"We did," she agrees, and she turns her face to press a kiss to the palm of your right hand. "And you’re not. God, Carm, don’t _ever_ compare yourself to them.” And the way she says it,  it makes you want to believe her. “And then,” she sighs, looking down at her shoes. “I - I got scared. But my dad, he - um, he says this thing that-"

"You miss all of the shots you don't take." You finish for her, because you've listened to that speech so many times that it's ingrained in your brain by now.

Laura doesn't seem surprised that you know that, instead she nods her head and presses another kiss to your skin, "I never really cared for it, to be honest, but - " she blows out a breath and looks into your eyes. "You're the shot I don't want to miss, Carm."

And you feel as if your knees are going to give out under the weight of her words and what they mean to you.

"Laura-"

"No," she shakes her head. "I mean it. I want this. I want _you_. I can't deny it and I can't run from it anymore."

You take a step back from her then, because being _this close_ to Laura is dangerous to your brain. Usually you pride yourself in being able to keep a cool head no matter the situation, but it’s as if your brain goes into short-circuit whenever Laura’s perfume invades your nostrils and she seems to be even more irresistible when you have a fair amount of alcohol coursing through your veins.

Laura seems shocked at your actions, but you shake your head and you try to focus on things that aren’t _her._ You think of the week you spent wishing she would talk to you, you think of the words that you expected to run past her lips when you ran into her on campus and you think of everything you felt when none of those things happened.

You think of how deeply Laura Hollis managed to hurt you.

And then, you say. “I need you to go.”

It feels as if every word you push out sinks a knife deeper into your heart. You thought that being without her had hurt, but it’s only when you see Laura’s eyes welling up with tears again that you realize _pushing her away_ is even worse. Because you promised yourself that you wouldn’t do that. You promised that you’d be there for Laura no matter what and you’d done that even when she didn’t want you, but now that she’s telling you that she _does_ , you’re telling her to leave.

God, you’re both so fucked up.

And it’s only when Laura nods to herself, a look of utter and complete defeat on her face, that you realize that you don’t _want_ her to leave. You never did. All this time you’ve been trying to knock down her walls, trying to somehow make her let you in, and when it seems that she’s finally doing that, you decide to run.

You decide to do the one thing you swore you’d never do to her.

Things between the two of you couldn’t be more complicated, but the idea of losing Laura - of never kissing her again, never holding her in your arms - is far worse than the idea of having your heart broken once again.

And maybe it’s not healthy to let someone have so much power over you - actually, there’s no maybe, you _know_ it is - but a part of you can’t help but wonder if this is it. If this is the chance you need to actually make things right. If this is the start of your future with Laura and you’re about to throw it away because you’re scared of things that happened in the past.

You can’t allow yourself to do that.

So you don’t.

“Wait.” You say, just as her hand twists the door handle.

“Carm - ”

It feels as if you’re in one of those goddamn romantic comedies when Laura turns to you and barely has the time to let a word out before you’ve cupped her cheeks and pressed her against the door, kissing her deeply as you effectively prevent her from leaving.

You have so much you want to say, so much you need to tell Laura, so much she _has_ to know, but instead you pull her closer and you kiss her again and again, letting your lips say what you can't put into words.

Her grip moves to your wrists once again and you can't help but realize that you're getting drunker on her kisses than on the five shots of bourbon you had earlier, and it makes your head spin in the best way possible.

You kiss for what feels like hours, and only when you feel as if your brain is gonna stop working from the lack of oxygen is that you pull back, and you're glad that you do, because Laura is looking at you as if you took the moon from the sky and gave it to her.

"So," she says, pushing your hair from your face and letting her touch linger against your cheek. "Will you?"

You feel as if your brain is fried and she's not making a lot of sense right now.

"Will I what?"

She giggles in a way that makes your heart soar and presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, "Go on a date with me."

Oh. _That_.

"I'll go on a date with you." You say, because there's no way you could ever deny her anything.

(You don't want to think of how that might be your downfall.)

Laura smiles that smile of hers that has you thinking you can do anything - like flying, skating like you could before the accident and, a frightening thought, _loving_ her.

You probably already do, if you're being honest with yourself.

"You're going on a date with me." She says and it's happy and light and all of the things that your life hasn't been lately. You try to ignore the nagging voice in the back of your mind that keeps telling you this is just too easy.

"I am," you agree. And then you pull her closer to you. "Now shut up and kiss me."

And, as your lips find hers once again, you manage to convince yourself that the time for suffering is behind you. From now on, there's no more going down, only going up.

(Figuratively speaking, of course. If you have anything to say about it, there will be a lot of _going down_ in your future.)

//

You can’t really describe what it feels like being with Laura.

If you stop to think about it, the two of you have actually been doing this for a few months now, except back then there’d been a lot more pining and a lot less kissing and you can’t really say that you hate this change - _at all._

But then Laura will do something for you - like handing you a bottle of water before your run - and you’ll find yourself wishing you could kiss her for a moment, right before your thoughts snap into place and you realize that now you _can._ In fact, if the way Laura smiles against your lips and pulls you close to her are any indication, you’re more than welcome to do so.

The high is incredible. Every time your hand wraps around Laura’s waist and pulls her closer to you feels like that great pass just before you turn around and score a goal. When your lips touch hers it’s like a championship win all over again. It’s _better,_ if such thing is possible. You think back to the summer months where you craved her so much you thought you were gonna go insane and you kiss her whenever that happens just because you _can._

And you don’t want to think of a time when all this will be over, because you’re just starting it and if you have it your way you’ll keep Laura by your side for as long as you possibly can - _forever_ , slips into your mind, but you shake that away - but then you think of how the only championship you’ve ever won was followed by the biggest pain you’ve ever felt and it feels as if your mind is betraying you over and over again.

You don’t want to ever come down from this high, but you can’t help the part of you that’s scared of how bad the fall is gonna be, even if it looks as if you’re on top of the world right now.

//

You promise to yourself that you’ll stop dwelling on the past.

Laura came to your apartment because she wanted to be with you and you have to believe her, even when every good thing you’ve ever had in your life has been taken away from you in a painful way and the thought of the same happening to whatever it is that you both have going on has you downright _frightened_ but you decide it needs to stop.

It needs to stop because you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get your heart to beat steadily whenever Laura smiles at you or when she laces her fingers with yours. She might not even be in love with you - and _that’s okay,_ or so you tell yourself - but you’re so past that point that you’ll take whatever she can give you because you’re sure that, at this point, you simply can’t live without Laura anymore.

You never thought you’d be such an idiot for someone, and maybe you wouldn’t, not really. Maybe that’s what makes Laura so especial.

(Maybe, all along, you were only meant to be an idiot for _her._ )

//

She says she wants to take you out for your birthday and you’re not normally one to show excitement but even your sister can see right through you when you’re having lunch at some fancy restaurant she insisted had the best lobster you’d ever try in your life.

“What _on earth_ is going on with you?” Mattie asks after she kicks you under the table for spacing out on her yet again.

(She’d been understanding the first two times it happened, but she was less than willing to put up with it the third time around.)

“Nothing.” You rush out, rolling your eyes as she presses her lips into a thin line in an attempt of being intimidating.

It doesn’t work, obviously; you’ve perfected that same trick a long time ago, Mattie should know better than to try and use it against you.

“Were you even paying attention to what I was saying?”

“Of course,” you nod. “Maman calling, yadda yadda. You know I have no interest in her businesses, Mattie.”

She takes a sip of her wine, raising an eyebrow at you, “True as that may be, you _do_ care about William.”

You can’t argue with that, so you don’t.

“Will can handle himself.” You assure her. “He told us back when we visited him that he had plans of attending Silas. He’ll show up when he’s ready.”

“You give him too much credit.”

Mattie doesn’t seem convinced, and you can’t say you blame her. You’re trying to be positive about this but a part of you - small as it might be - _is_ worried that your brother is in over his head in his attempt to defy your mother. But you don’t let your sister pick up on that.

Instead, you take a bite of your lobster - it _is_ damn good, you have to give her that - and you meet her eyes across the table, your shoulders moving in a shrug. “You don’t give him enough.”

She contemplates something for a moment, and then she leans forward in her seat. “Are you going to tell me what’s gotten you so distracted?”

You sigh; might as well get this over with.

“I have date later.” You tell her. “With Laura.”

It seems that’s explanation enough, because she moves back, a smirk in place as she takes her glass of wine in her hand once again. “Ah. _Laura._ Of course.”

You can’t even stop your eyes from rolling at her mocking tone. “Don’t even start.”

Mattie doesn’t say anything, but you can see that the situation amuses her greatly. She would probably tease you a lot more if it wasn’t your birthday, but you don’t actually expect her to say any more on the matter than she already has when you first brought up the subject of Laura a few months ago.

It’s for that reason that you’re not surprised when she only turns back to her meal and finishes it without even bringing the subject again, instead choosing to complain about how her last date was an absolute _bore_ and that she was officially swearing off relationships because it wasn’t likely she’d ever find someone good enough for her.

(You realize how lucky you are, then, to have found someone like Laura.)

(Even with all the ups and downs of your relationship.)

When you’re both done and you’re basking of how great of a meal you’ve actually managed to have with your sister and how your relationship might actually be on the right track, she surprises you even more, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it softly.

“Stop overthinking it.” She says, and you don’t have to ask what she means, because the way her gaze holds yours is enough for you to know. “You’re nearly not old enough to be carrying all these worry lines.”

//

You take your sister’s words to heart and you focus on _Laura_ instead of all the things that could possibly go wrong on your first date together.

And then you get out of your building to find Laura waiting for you and you can’t find a single reason in your brain as to why you were worrying in the first place.

In fact, you can’t find _anything_ in your brain, because Laura is all you can think about.

She clears her throat when you step up to her and let’s out a raspy _Happy Birthday_ that has you absolutely sure your legs are about to turn into jelly. You try to think of something to say, but you can’t really find the words. Instead, you do the next best thing - or the _first,_ in your opinion - and you bring your lips to hers in a kiss that you take no time to deepen once Laura’s hand finds your jaw.

“Thank you.” You breathe out when you finally pull back.

You want to keep kissing her forever, and you’re glad when Laura leans forward to steal another kiss from you.

It’s only then that you realize she’s standing next to her bike and the little basket on the front is filled with things that you assume are for the second part of your date, which Laura claimed to be _stargazing._

(You don’t think you’ll ever be able to think about that without a shiver running through your body.)

You offer to drive and you’re thankful that Laura doesn’t take you up on the offer, because that means you get to feel her arm wrapped around your waist as you help her guide the bike to the restaurant and it feels more intimate than holding her hand over a gear stick - though you wouldn’t say no to _that,_ either, because you’re just always happy to touch Laura, no matter how you get to do it.

Over dinner - between a bite of pasta and the sight of Laura staring at you with that smile you love so much stretched on her lips - you find yourself wondering why you thought this would be hard at all.

“How was lunch with your sister?” She asks you as she works on wrapping her pasta around her fork and you take a while to answer because you can’t get over how cute she looks with her brows furrowed and her tongue peeking between her lips as she focuses on her task.

“It was good.” You finally say, only to find yourself distracted once again as Laura takes her food to her lips.

No one should be allowed to look that good while eating _freaking_ pasta.

“We talked and she made less fun of me than usual,” you shrug, and Laura chuckles. “It’s not like it was when we were young, but I don’t think it’s bad. We’re different people now, so we’re learning to deal with that.”

She reaches for your hand then, lacing your fingers together. “I’m happy for you, Carm.” She says. Then, she smirks. “Now tell me, how much of a nightmare were you as a kid?”

“Oh, God.” You groan, but it takes only a squeeze from Laura’s hand for you to find yourself spilling your guts about everything that you and your siblings got up to when you were younger.

She hangs on every word you say and she even tell you some stories of her own, though you’re not really surprised that her mother isn’t featured in any of them, even when you know they all must’ve happened while she was still around.

You don’t mind, though. The smile never leaves Laura’s lips and her hand stays on yours for most of your meal together, so you find it really hard to focus on anything else other than how happy and _light_ you feel. She flirts with you in a way that can be considered shameless and you realize that it’s not a whole lot different than what you both had been doing before, only now you can’t even deny what it means anymore because the memory of Laura begging for you to touch her is still fresh in your mind and you’d be lying if you said that you don’t want to have her like that again.

(In fact, you hope that she hadn’t been really honest back when she told you what you’d be doing for your date and said that stargazing was _actual_ stargazing, and not a code for something more.)

The night isn’t even over yet and you can already say it’s the best birthday you’ve ever hard.

//

You haven’t experienced lack of words a lot in your life, but that’s exactly what happens when Laura gives you your birthday present.

It’s probably a cliché, really. You’re sure lots of people have thought about it and you’re certainly not the only one to have gotten a certificate like the one you hold carefully in your hand as Laura takes you back to your apartment, but when you think of Laura doing that for you, you just - you _melt._

You melt because no one ever paid enough attention to you to do something so caring and so _loving_ and you didn’t think you could fall any more in love with her but Laura seems intent on taking your heart and making it hers and you can’t even find it in yourself to fight her on this.

She gave you something beautiful and in turn you gave her your heart and the idea of ever taking it back seems unfathomable, even if she isn’t aware that she has it in the first place.

And maybe it’s too soon to tell her that - you’ve already pushed her too much in too short a time span - but you will one day.

You hope that when you do, Laura will cherish as much as you cherish the parts of her she’s given you.

//

You ask her to come up because you don’t think you can go another moment holding back your desire to _be_ with her.

Laura walks in after you and you make your way to the kitchen in an attempt of actually being a good host, but once you’ve filled the pot with water and you take it to the coffee maker, the idea of making _coffee_ while the girl you want more than anything in this world is standing in your living room sounds ridiculous, so you don’t even bother with it.

“So,” Laura says once she sees you, eyebrows raised and lips pulled to the side. “Were you actually inviting me for coffee or are we going to make out?”

The words are barely out of her mouth before you’re falling to the couch and pulling her on top of you, and Laura is all quick reflexes and smooth movements as she wraps her legs on each side of you and kisses you back with the same frantic need as your lips move against hers.

You feel as if every rational thought you have is ready to leave your brain, but you hold on to them and you keep your hands from straying, even when Laura grinds her hips down against yours and bites on your lower lip.

There’s no way you could ever fight the moan that escapes your lips, which turns out not to be the last as Laura’s lips keep moving against yours and her tongue keeps doing things that make you so dizzy with _want_ you have to dig your nails into her skin to keep them from exploring in the way they seem to be craving so much.

You’ve mapped her body once before and every part of you is dying to get lost in her curves again, to go to places you didn’t get the chance to go that night on the camping field - to commit her to memory all over again.

Laura’s hands close over yours and you feel as if your brain is going into over-drive when she slips them under her shirt, right above her ribs where you can practically _feel_ her skin burning under your touch.

“Is this okay?” You ask her, ignoring the fact that she was the one to move your hands in the first place.

You don’t want this to stop, but you can’t imagine how it’d feel if you pushed Laura too far again. You want her to be sure about this, because you plan on it becoming a regular occurrence and having Laura disappearing on you for two weeks again would be completely counterproductive to that.

She seems sure when she says, “I put your hands there.”

And she _did._ The same way she showed up at your apartment and told you she wanted to go out with you. You’ve been afraid that showing Laura how much you want her will end up pushing her away, but you think it’s time you give her some credit, especially after the night she put together for you and how amazing it all has been.

“Right.” You say, and you want to focus on her words and maybe even meet her eyes, but you’re focused on how it feels to have her body against yours again, and how much you want to get reacquainted with it - over and over again, if possible.

God, you missed her so much.

So you tell her that. “I missed you.”

"I've missed you, too." Laura says, and you inhale sharply at her words because you just _feel_ so much.

It’s a wonder you’re not exploding under the weight of your feelings for her.

Laura rests her forehead against yours and she kisses you again and you’re ready to throw caution to the wind. You’re ready to take off her clothes and press her skin against yours as you show her over and over again just _how much_ you’ve missed her.

"We're gonna have to stop now.” You breathe out. “Unless-”

But then Laura is pulling back and her hands are moving to the buttons of her shirt and everything else you planned on saying gets lost somewhere in your brain as Hurricane Laura sweeps you off your feet all over again.

(You’d never thought you’d be so glad to get caught in such a beautiful mess.)

//

Laura invites you over for dinner the next day and you think it’s cute how she actually asks if you’d like to go to her house, as if she doesn’t know how whipped you are and how you’d probably walk through fire for her if she asked.

Coach Hollis hands you a glass of wine and wishes you a belated happy birthday as soon as you walk through the door and you’re a mixture of surprised and touched by his actions. Sure, things hadn’t been as awkward as they were back when you made your feelings known about his relationship with Laura, but you didn’t think things were _this good_ either.

He walks inside and the thought slips from your mind as you find Laura pressed against you, a smile stretching on her lips just before she pulls you into a kiss that you’d been craving ever since she left your house earlier that morning.

Dinner is a completely different experience than it had been the first time Laura invited you over.

She holds your hand under the table through most of the meal and you let your thumb brush against her skin when she’s particularly excited about a story she’s telling, but it soon becomes clear to you that Coach Hollis has no idea there’s something going on between the two of you and that that’s _most definitely_ not the reason why Laura invited you over.

You don’t let it get to you, though. The two of you have gone in exactly one date and you haven’t even talked about what it all means yet, so it’s not that weird for Laura to be keeping this from her father, though it you _do_ feel funny when Laura gets up to retrieve the dessert and Coach Hollis looks over at you and tells you that he’s _happy you two are friends again._

The idea of being only Laura’s friend has you breaking a little inside.

But then you’re helping her wash the dishes and there’s a lot more kissing than cleaning and you think maybe it’s only a matter of time. And then you’re picking up soap suds from her hair and Laura is looking at you in a way that you can quite explain and you realize that it doesn’t really matter to you.

You’ll wait as long as you have to if it means that you get to have Laura like this, even if only in the privacy of empty kitchens and deserted football fields.

//

The doorbell of your apartment rings the next morning and your heart twists inside your ribcage with the thought that maybe it’s Laura, even if it’s been barely twelve hours since you left her house and you have plans to meet up with her at Starbucks later.

You miss her already; there’s no way you’d say no to a visit.

(You’re developing a serious case of co-dependence and the thought would have you a little worried if it weren’t for the fact that it’s _Laura_ and this has probably been happening for a lot longer than you’d like to admit.)

When you open the door, however, you find yourself frozen in place because the person standing in front of you is _definitely_ not Laura and your heart is beating wildly in your chest but you’re absolutely certain is for an entire different reason now.

“Hey, Kitty.” Your brother grins as he stands against your threshold and you fling yourself at him before you can even register your actions. “Miss me?”

 

* * *

 

The year has barely started when you come to the conclusion that your lectures are _boring_. You know now that they’re not pointless, that you need that balance in your life between school and soccer, but you still wish you’d skipped out on class today.

You’re just so _distracted_.

Everything reminds you of Carmilla now. All morning, you’ve been taking second glances at every girl whose dark hair happened to catch your eye. Ever since you’d allowed yourself to think it, all you’ve been _able_ to think about is how there is currently nothing on Earth you want more than her.

Figuratively speaking, you know that you have the ball at your feet. It’s your call - it has _always_ been your call when it comes to the two of you - and you need to make one before she misinterprets your silence to mean something else completely.

You consider replying to the texts she’s sent you or even just showing up to run with her in the mornings, but you need time. You need to work out how to apologize for these past few weeks. Anything other than grovelling at her feet feels like it’s not enough, but at the same time, you still feel like you’re not ready to make that leap. And you know that if you _do_ crash and burn, Carmilla will be there to catch you, but you’ve been trying to learn to catch yourself over these past few months and the thought of dependence makes you sick to your stomach.

It's hell, having to work through it in your mind.

Maybe it’s the same as trying to figure out where it hurts.

(In your chest when you think about how your dependence on her could ruin you like it did when your mother decided you were no longer worth the time.)

And you’re hurting her, you know you are. A part of you would like to justify that this little hurt is better than this insecurity of yours wrecking the two of you down the road. You’re not nearly egotistical enough to think this is affecting her as much as it is you, but there’s no denying that it _has_. You’d stared at those cupcakes long enough to work that out.

//

When you do finally end up running into Carmilla, it’s both worse and better than anything you could have imagined.

It’s three days into the semester and you’re walking your bike on the sidewalk towards the main road when you spot a familiar figure walking in the opposite direction. Your heart speeds up and you know you should put your head down and get by her as quickly as possible, but once you start looking at her, you can’t seem to bring yourself to stop.

She’s looking down at her phone while she walks and you wonder who she’s texting because it sure as hell isn’t you. Her shoulders are hunched and you stop walking when you remember how you’d had to bite down on her skin there to keep yourself from screaming every campsite awake that night.

And then she looks up.

You can see the exact moment that her mind registers it’s you she has to awkwardly walk by on her way to wherever she’s going. She grimaces and her steps falter until her feet eventually stop moving altogether. She looks tired and pissed off and you’re so sorry for everything that you’ve done.

“Carmilla.” You say because you don’t ever recall her being silent like this when it’s just the two of you.

Her eyes meet yours and she lets out a laugh so cold and hollow that it makes you wince. Then she shakes her head and walks away.

//

You tell yourself that you’re going to to fix this as soon as you can settle your nerves down. That you’re going to get it together and beg for her to take you back because seeing her like that, acting like the two of you hadn’t spent hours worshiping each other’s body had hurt more than any worries about the future swimming in your head.

And God, you’d worshiped. You’d gotten down on your knees and devoted yourself to the temple that is her body and a part of you aches at the thought that you running scared might mean you’d never get to do that again.

The possibility of that hits you particularly hard when your Calculus homework sends you into a tailspin of frustration. It’s probably because of the fact that Calculus is Carmilla in a nutshell. For as long as you’ve been familiar with her, she’s been all about _failing forward_ and digging mistakes up to learn from them and at first it had completely freaked you out, but ever since she’d practically pulled you off the track almost a year ago it was like -

It’s like she’d been slowly teaching you to do that yourself.

(You also think Jamie’s analytical nature might be leaking into yours because you’re not normally one to dwell on things like this - you dwell plenty of course, but usually on your wrongs and not the things you used to do right.)

You used to box it all up. Hell, there’s even a box from LaFontaine on your desk to prove that, but you hadn’t needed to do that since Carmilla came along. She's changed you. So much.

She makes you want to put yourself out there for her.

You don’t even think to grab a jacket before you’re rushing down the stairs and calling to your Dad that you’re leaving for Carmilla’s and that you’d be back. You grab the first pair of shoes you can find and the nervous energy thrumming in your bloodstream makes it almost difficult to get the door open.

You’ve finally figured it out.

//

When you get to Carmilla’s, you panic a little because you haven’t even gotten as far as planning on what to say to her. You think maybe _I’m sorry I got scared because I thought I was growing to be too dependent on you when in reality you were teaching me how to be good at independence_ and _I wanted to prove to myself that I could exist without you_ requires too much explanation of your thought process.

So you’ve got nothing, but you also think that _seeing_ Carmilla could help.

You reach for the buzzer a couple of times and pull back before you finally gather the courage to ring it. There’s no answer the first time and so you do it again. When the intercom stays quiet, you walk over to the stairs leading up to the building’s front door and sit.

She’s probably out with people who aren’t you and having more fun than you can ever offer her. Your stomach twists at the thought of her going out with some other girl.

You think you’d like to do that for her one day, take her out and treat her to a meal. And then maybe you’d hold her hand as you walk home together. After the past two weeks, you think asking would be worth a shot if she forgives you.

She doesn’t come home for a long while. You toy with the idea of texting her, but then decide that she probably won’t take too kindly to that after all the messages she sent that you’d had to ignore for the sake of your sanity. Not that ignoring those had helped, especially when your Dad’s words keep ringing in your head.

 _Chances are no one will leave like her_.

Carmilla has shown time and time again that she won’t and you hate yourself for still being scared when she’s given you so many reasons not to be.

The least you could do is wait for her to come home so you can explain as much of everything as you can and, if she lets you, you’d like to spend a lot of time making it up to her.

You lose track of time, just sitting on the steps, thinking about how nice it would be to go out with Carmilla. The two of you seem to have done this all backwards and maybe it’s your fault. You should have been honest about what you wanted. It might have saved you two months of not quite knowing how to act around her.

The sound of footsteps approaching shocks you into standing then and you’re not quite sure what to do with your hands when she looks at you because she’s so pretty and you’re in so deep and you’re _so_ sorry.

//

It turns into a mess - it’s you and Carmilla, you’re starting to think the two of you can’t do things any other way - but she takes you back in the end and that’s all that matters.

Nothing changes too much. In hindsight, the two of you were practically dating during the time you were just friends, so that may have something to do with it. Still, on Monday morning when you hand her your extra water bottle and she thanks you by pressing a quick kiss to your lips, you can’t help but marvel at how quick and effortless the transition has been so far.

“So.” She says, post-run. You look over at her and watch as she pushes her hair back. It makes you want to kiss her.

(But then again, a lot of things do. That list you’d written in your head about the things you love about Carmilla? Everything on that list may as well be filed under _list of things that make you want to kiss Carmilla_.)

“Yes?”

“I’m just wondering when you’re going to cash in that date I agreed to.”

You’ve been thinking about it, too.

“What are you doing on your birthday?”

Carmilla shrugs, “Probably lunch with my sister.”

“I could take you out to dinner then?” You ask, reaching out to hold her hand. She lets you. “Me and you and my favourite restaurant on campus and then stargazing?”

“Really stargazing or the kind of stargazing we did - “

“Really stargazing.” You tug on her hand and roll your eyes. “Besides, I don’t _stargaze_ on the first date.”

She looks at you and raises an eyebrow and that does it. You have to stop walking for a second so you can kiss her.

Carmilla hums in contentment when you pull away, “But do you kiss on the first date?”

“I guess you’ll have to figure that out yourself.”

“Deal.” She murmurs, pulling you closer in a move so quick that it makes you squeal. “It’s a date.”

When she presses her mouth to yours, the corners of her lips are turned up into the smile that you love so much.

//

You’ve known for a while now that you want to buy Carmilla a star for her birthday. You also know it’s incredibly cliche and that every girl who’s probably ever dated your galaxy-obsessed star girl has most likely given her one as a present. But you like to think it’s a little more special coming from you considering the events that unfolded when the two of you last went to look at the stars.

The website says they can deliver within twenty four hours but you don’t want to take any unnecessary risks so you order about a week in advance. You also make a reservation for two at the Italian place on campus.

When Carmilla’s birthday finally comes around, you take a page out of her book and you don’t greet her over text or through a call. You think you should probably be nervous, but ever since Carmilla stopped you from walking out her door, there’s been a warm feeling settled in your chest. It kind of feels like love.

//

You’re patiently waiting outside her apartment building by the time six o’clock rolls around. You’d brought your bike with you - the little front basket holds your blankets, some extra jackets, and your purse - and you thank god that you’re resting some of your weight on the handlebars when Carmilla walks out because you would have fallen flat on your face without the support.

She’s wearing a plain looking black dress that you wouldn’t have taken a second look at had it not been her wearing it. Her hair’s up and your eyes don’t leave her jawline the whole time she’s walking up to you.

You clear your throat, “Happy birthday.”

She smiles and leans in for a kiss and you adjust your hold on your bike so that you can move a hand up to her jaw. The distinct smell that is undeniably Carmilla hits your nose and your brain kind of shuts down. You can do nothing but follow her lead when she deepens the kiss after a few moments.

“Thank you.” She says when you both come up for air. You think you should probably stop making a habit of making out with her on public sidewalks, but that doesn’t stop you from stealing one last kiss. Carmilla is smiling when she pulls away for good. She eyes the bike. “You want me to drive? I wouldn’t mind.”

“Campus is, like, five minutes away.” You say, your hand still cupping her jaw. You like the feel of it moving under your palm when she talks. “Besides, I recall a certain drunk wanting a ride on my bike last New Year’s.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile is still in place. You finally move your hand off of jaw skin only to replace it with your lips. You like the way she inhales sharply through her nose.

“New hairstyle?” You ask, pulling back a little.

“Can’t have hair in your face when you’re eating pasta.” She says, bringing a hand up to your shoulder.

“Or you can tuck it behind your ear.”

She shakes her head and reaches up and your heart flutters in your chest when she takes it upon herself to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “Nah. That only works well for you, sweetheart.”

You’re pretty sure you’re not going to survive the night.

“Just to get this straight.” Carmilla says once she snaps herself out of a daze she seemed to have put herself in while looking at you. “You think you can drive this thing while I’m on it too?”

“I know I can.” You return, moving so that you’ve got your legs on either side of the bike.

“That’s some serious ab strength you’ve got going on if that’s true.”

“Well, yeah.” You smile at her and pat your abdomen. “Pretty sure you got up close and personal with these bad boys when - “

“Oh did I now?” She says, cutting you off by placing a hand just above where your jeans are resting on your hips. Your throat feels tight all of a sudden.

“Carmilla.” You say in a voice so gravelly that it makes her laugh. “Get on the damn bike before I jump you and we miss our reservation.”

“Yes ma’am.” She says, still laughing.

It takes some time, but once you’re both settled, you get started on pedaling. Carmilla is considerate enough to help you steady the handlebars while you have one arm wrapped around her waist. There are a few close calls with pedestrians and you have to remind Carmilla that the two of you can’t run birds over if you tried, but when you finally pull up to the restaurant, you realize that you don’t recall laughing this much in such a short period of time with anyone else.

Dinner is nothing but lovely. Carmilla talks about lunch with her sister and that turns into the two of you trading stories back and forth about your childhoods - it’s surprisingly easy to leave your mother out of those stories - and embarrassing moments that come from playing sports. There’s also a lot flirting and it’s so similar to how you two interacted in the summer that you’re surprised you never picked up on it then.

It’s almost exactly the same as every other night you’d spent hanging out with her except that you’re not half lying on top of each other on her couch, watching something stupid on TV.

Once you’re both finished, you head outside to grab the blankets and jackets from your basket. Carmilla accepts the warm-up jacket you hand her without question, pulling it over her head immediately. The sleeves are a bit short on her and you’re about to offer her the one you’d originally brought along for yourself when she traces a finger over where your name is stitched on the left side of her chest. Then you’re just very focused on not kissing her.

But then you realize that you are, in fact, more than welcome to do that whenever you so please now and so you go for it and she smiles into the kiss.

“We both taste like garlic bread.” She murmurs.

“Probably.” You agree, kissing her again anyway. Carmilla reaches for your hand when you’re both momentarily satisfied by the amount of kisses and you double check that everything’s in your purse before you hand her the blankets. “Ready?”

“Lead the way, captain.”

It’s a short walk to the soccer field. You like how Carmilla holds your hand the whole way, occasionally rubbing her thumb over your skin soothingly. She only lets go once you walk out on the field and reach for the blankets.

She helps you lay a blanket down on the grass before stretching her body out over said blanket, her arms folded under her head. You unfold a second blanket and drape it over her legs, loving the way she giggles when you tuck her in. When she looks sufficiently cozy, you wrap the last one around your own shoulders and Carmilla shifts to pat the space beside her, calling silently for you to sit.

“If I showed you a star on a star map, do you think you’d be able to find it?”

She makes a _hmm_ sound before shuffling closer to you, wedging her shoulder between the blanket and your thigh. You want to laugh at how cuddly she is but you’re finally starting to get a little bit nervous.

“That’s a yes, then?”

“Depends how good your star map is.” It’s already in your hand and so you waste no time holding it above her face. “Which one are we looking for?”

You adjust the way you’re holding the piece of paper so that you can point at which star you mean. Carmilla mumbles something you don’t quite catch before she takes the little map from you.

“That’s not even a constellation, why would you want to find that?”

You shrug.

It takes her a good ten minutes, but you know exactly when she finds it because she says _lay back_ and tugs at the belt loops of your jeans until you do so.

“There.” She says when you’re settled, pointing. “Right next to the really bright one on the left.”

“Do you know what it’s called?”

“No.”

You laugh a little bit at her almost apathetic tone. “Do you want to?”

“Sure.”

“Well.” You bite down on your lip in nervous anticipation before slowly placing the name certificate on her stomach. She picks it up and holds it over her face. Even from this angle, you can tell she’s concentrating on reading every word. “I decided I’d call it Carmilla.”

Carmilla is quiet for a very long time then and you’ve almost given up on getting a reaction out of her until she reaches for your hand and brings it up to her lips.

“Thank you.”

//

When Carmilla hops off of the top tube of your bike in front of her apartment, she’s still got the certificate in her hand and your jacket on. She seems to consider something in her head for a minute before she bends down a little to kiss your cheek.

“Want to come up?”

There’s not even a choice to be made.

She holds all of your things as you fumble for the bike lock that’s somewhere at the bottom of your purse. Once your bike’s dealt with, you follow her into the building.

You remember how you’d done the same thing not too long ago the night you’d apologized to her. It’s a lot different now, though. For one, you’re allowed to hold her hand as the two of you stand close in the elevator and you get to scatter kisses along the skin of her neck as she tries not to struggle with the door handle.

Once you’re both inside, Carmilla disappears off into the kitchen while you take your shoes off. You hear the tap running and you assume she’s getting water so you wander off towards the living room.

She reappears a moment later and you barely manage to get out a _so were you actually inviting me for coffee or are we going to make out_ before she's pulling you onto her lap while she's shifting to sit down. Her mouth under yours feels frantic, like she's desperate for the taste of you on her tongue. Carmilla emits this sort of warmth and comfort whenever you're near her and, not unlike every other time you've felt it, you allow yourself to sink into it.

The kiss gets very messy very quickly. Around the time you finally get to bite down on her lower lip, actually. You swallow the moan that she lets out after you do so, and then it's a mess of teeth and tongue and the little sounds Carmilla keeps making.

Her hands don't stray. One anchored at your hip and the other in your hair. Though her nails _do_ dig into your skin like she's fighting to keep them there, so you close your hands over hers and lead them under the fabric of your shirt.

She breaks away from your lips the moment her hands slip against your ribs and the gasp that comes out of your mouth fills the air between your faces.

"Is this okay?"

"I put your hands there." You remind her. It feels something like déjà vu and a lot like remorse when her fingers skate over each of your ribs for the first time since that particular August night. You're sorry for how things went and you think she understands that and has forgiven you, but you're never going to want to stop trying to make it up to her.

"Right." She says, her palms feel warm on your skin and she looks focused, like she's doing an inventory of your body. "I missed you."

"I've missed you, too." You tell her, leaning forward to rest your forehead against hers. She sucks in a breath before she pulls you closer and kisses you again, her fingers splayed out on your back, thumbs rubbing circles into your sides. _God_ , no one else's hands have ever felt this good on your skin before. And no one's ever come close to making you feel as breathless she does with just the touch of her tongue against where your lips end and the inside of your mouth begins.

"We're gonna have to stop now." Carmilla mumbles against your lips when her wandering hands hit the wire of your bra. "Unless - "

The rest of her sentence gets caught in her throat when you pull away from her and - after making sure she's looking - start on popping open the buttons of your shirt. Her eyes widen and suddenly, her hands are no longer under your shirt. Instead, she's helping you with the buttons beginning from the bottom while you start from the top. When your hands meet after you undo the last button together, you take hers in yours and pin them beside her head before crashing your lips together.

She tastes a lot like what you imagine the clouds would taste like during a summer sunset and it makes you wonder if her skin tastes the same as you remember so you let go of her hands in favor of hooking your arms behind her neck and toying with the zipper of her dress.

"May I take this off of you?"

"Always so polite." She says on a laugh before nodding in agreement. You kiss her again because you can't get enough and she slips her tongue into your mouth. The action makes you grind your hips down and you allow yourself to revel in the gasp that Carmilla lets out before you detach yourself from her for a moment so you can stand.

"Pants off." She says, rising to her feet as well and pulling her hair free from the neat bun it was tucked into. You oblige, but you've barely managed to tug the waistband past your hips when Carmilla decides to push your shirt off your shoulders and press her mouth there. You lose focus and bring your hands up to hold on to her instead.

"What?" You ask when you feel her laugh against your skin. She presses another kiss to your collarbone before her mouth descends and you lose focus again. "Quit distracting me and maybe I can listen when you boss me around."

She laughs again, but doesn't pay attention to your complaints. Her teeth close around the skin near the top of your bra and she hooks her fingers around the belt loops of your jeans. You press closer to her on instinct.

Carmilla smiles before she tears her mouth away.

“You’re very pretty.” She says, head tilted to the side, shy smile on her face. You should probably feel a little self-conscious, but you’ve shown Carmilla much more than just your skin before and it’s not like she’s run away screaming. You kiss the tip of her nose.

“You really think so?” You breathe out, finally managing to reach out and pull the zipper of her dress down. She hums in response and you lose all patience so you tug her in the direction of her bedroom, your pants partway off and your shirt pooled at your elbows. Carmilla’s dress is hanging off of her shoulders.

You don’t bother with the lights or shutting the bedroom door, instead you focus on dragging Carmilla’s clothes off and when she’s completely naked under your touch, you push her gently down on her bed. She looks up at you, legs still hanging over the edge, and smiles and you get so lost in it that even the idea of being able to feel her bare skin against yours almost isn’t enough to stop you from staring.

“You gonna get on with it?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

You can’t help the blush that rises to your cheeks, but her smile stays in place and her fingers on your bicep continue to trace soothing patterns against your skin, so you know she doesn’t really mind the staring. You do get on with it, though. You press a kiss to her chin before following the column of her throat down until you reach her collarbone. Carmilla groans when you bite down on the skin there and the sound goes right through you so you do it again.

Slowly, you make your way down her body, kissing all the random freckles you find. Carmilla moans the loudest when you let your teeth tug gently on her nipples and she bucks her hips when your hand wanders across her abdomen. It feels oddly natural, the taste of her skin in your mouth and the way your heartbeat skyrockets every time your brain reminds you that this is _Carmilla_ letting you in. Not some random girl, but _the_ girl.

Nothing feels rushed or too drawn out and the breathy moans she lets out every once in a while sends a lot of blood rushing south.

You smile at the hitch of her breath when you lower yourself down onto your knees to make it a little easier for you to suck a hickey just between her hip bones. Carmilla props herself up on her elbows and exhales your name when you lift her leg to rest on your shoulder and kiss the scar on her knee.

“You doing okay?” You ask her, tasting the soft skin at the inside of her thigh.

“Never been better.”

“I’m gonna keep going then.” You say, nudging her thighs further apart.

Carmilla snorts.

“Thanks for the play-by-play, cutie.” She murmurs and you pause, not wanting to cut her off in the middle of a sentence, but the anticipation soon gets to be too much. “I really - _Jesus_.”

You laugh and she digs her heels into your back at the feeling. It’s easy, then, to forget everything else and focus only on the way Carmilla’s hips buck when you stumble across something she particularly likes. She’s warm and wet against your tongue and it’s not the first time you’ve tasted her, but God it _feels_ like it. You feel like you’re fumbling through this whole thing even though you _know_ you aren’t and it’s not until Carmilla arches off the bed practically shouting your name that the worries disappear.

“You are too good at that.” She says and all you can think is _again_.

So you make her come again using only your hand this time while looking down at her wonderfully expressive face and then once more with your fingers knuckle-deep in her and her clit sucked into your mouth. She looks so beautifully wrecked afterwards that it makes you smile.

“Did you know,” you start, your arms folded over her collarbones and chin against hers, making a right angle with your faces as you look down at her, “that you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen?”

Carmilla’s eyes are still slightly glossed over but she hums and tilts your chin up with her hand so she can kiss the underside of it. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I figured I’d give it a try.” You say, pressing your smile to hers. “It got you three orgasms.”

She laughs then and you feel it in your body as if it was one of yours. You’re perfectly content to kiss her until she falls asleep or it gets late enough that you can no longer stay, but when her hand slips under the waistband of your underwear, that all goes out the window.

//

You’re not quite ready to be apart from Carmilla for a significant period of time - 24 hours is a lot - and so you invite her over for dinner with your Dad the next night.

He hands her a glass of wine the minute she walks through the door. “Belated, Karnstein.”

“Thanks, Coach.” She says, still looking a little bit surprised by the reception, but touched by it all the same. You wait until your dad has walked off towards the dining room before you kiss her.

“Hey.” You murmur against her lips. You can’t seem to keep the smile off of your face.

“Hey to you too.”

Carmilla’s come over for dinner before, but it’s so much better this time around because you get to hold her hand under the table. You also get to kiss her when you get bored washing dishes, which you take advantage of quite a bit. In fact, she’s picking soap suds out of your hair when an alarming thought first enters your mind and it’s a testament to all the time you’ve spent getting better that you don’t feel like breaking out into a cold sweat.

//

You don’t know who to tell.

At first, you had thought of calling LaF or Perry or both, but then you realized that there are really only two people who can fully understand the weight of this realization. One of them is Carmilla and the other is your therapist.

And yes, you and Carmilla have made a ridiculous amount of progress recently, but you’re not sure she’s ready to hear this from you or if you’re even ready to say it to her. It shouldn’t mean much because you’re sure people think it all the time, but God, it makes you feel giddy and light and so many things you hadn’t even thought was possible to feel.

It’s like your brain is stuck on Carmilla laughing as she flicks away little soap bubbles from the side of your head. You cannot, for the life of you, think of anything other than the moment when the beating of your heart over the past few months finally started making sense.

So you walk into Jamie’s office and much like the last time you saw her, you can’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth before you’ve even closed the door.

“I'm in love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have questions or concerns, we're [here](http://bsau-asks.tumblr.com)!


	17. October - Junior Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: gross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a happy and safe Halloween weekend everybody!

You're leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping from a bottle of water as you wait for Carmilla to pick you up when your dad walks in.

"Big day today." He says, ruffling your hair as he makes his way to the coffee machine. "First game of the year."

Your mind flashes back to a time nearly two years ago when he wouldn't have even remembered you _had_ a game, let alone consider it to be something big, and you can't help the way your heart skips a bit in your chest at his words.

"Yeah." You agree, shifting on your feet at the idea that both your dad _and_ Carmilla are gonna be there today.

And, true, they've been to all of your games for pretty much the entirety of last year, but everything still feels _funny._ You don't think you'll ever quite get used to their support, especially your dad's.

"You waiting for Karnstein?" He asks, matching your position against the counter across from you and bringing his mug to his lips.

You open your mouth to answer but the sound of a car horn invades your kitchen. Your dad nods to himself.

"I guess that answers my question."

"I'll see you later?"

You don't mean for it to be a question and you especially hate how unsure the words sound coming from your lips, but you can't help yourself. There's no denying that you've both come a long way from how your relationship had been after your mother left, but you still need reassurance when it comes to your father's love.

It's less and less everyday, but you do.

Which is why you're thankful when he only smiles and take a few steps towards you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I wouldn't miss it, pumpkin."

"Okay," you breathe out as you pull back. Then, before you can think twice about it, you give his cheek a kiss and you walk out, getting your duffel bag from the door and moving to Carmilla's car.

"Ready, Cap?" She asks, a smile on her lips as she frees one hand from the wheel to lace your fingers together.

You take the opportunity to pull her close to you and her smile only stretches when she realizes your intentions. You think maybe the reason why kissing Carmilla feels so different from kissing other girls is that you can taste _happiness_ on her tongue, and every time it feels different than the times before.

 _Better_.

"Now I am." You say, eyes still closed as you allow yourself to keep your forehead pressed against hers for a second longer.

And then she's pulling back and starting the car again and it's barely five minutes of bliss with her, but the moment keeps you grounded for over the next two hours, right until the referee is blowing her whistle at the end of the game and Carmilla is grinning at you from the stands, your father is giving you a thumbs up from the sidelines and your team is jumping on you to celebrate your first win of the year.

All in all, you think, _definitely_ not a bad way to start the season.

//

"Starbucks?" Carmilla asks you as you meet her at the parking lot once you've showered.

"God, yes."

She chuckles, grips the sleeves of your _Silas University Women's Soccer_ shirt, pulls you close to her and gives you a soft kiss.

"You were amazing today."

You duck your head as you feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, but Carmilla presses the tip of her index finger against your chin and gently lifts your face to meet her eyes.

"Laura." She whispers, and the way your name falls from her lips sounds a lot like a prayer. "Amazing."

And _yeah,_ she is.

(You wonder how the hell you managed to resist this - resist _her_ \- for so long.)

She slips her hand from your chin to tangle her fingers in your hair and you let your arms wrap around her waist as you pull her closer to you. It isn't enough, not really; you want to feel every part of Carmilla against you, but you'll settle for what you can have right now.

"Thank you for being here today.”

She grins, and you find yourself lost in the way her lips curl a little higher to the left side and her cheeks get these little dimples once they're stretched wide enough.

“Sweetheart,” Carmilla breathes out. “I wouldn't be anywhere else.”

Your lose your breath at her words and it's a wonder she can't feel how your hearts starts to jump against your ribcage, as if it can't bear to be trapped inside of you when all it wants is to be with her.

A thought slips into your mind of what would it be like to let Carmilla know exactly how she makes you feel, but you shoot that down as soon as it flashes through your brain.

This, right here, _being_ with Carmilla is enough. Is more than enough, really. You didn't even think you'd ever get this much in the first place.

“Much as I'd like to keep doing this,” you say, placing one last kiss against Carmilla’s lips as you pull away from her. “I believe you promised me Starbucks? And I could _really_ go for a cookie right now.”

Carmilla laughs, and it's as if you lose yourself in her all over again.

“I think I like kissing you better.”

You can't say that you disagree. No cookie in the world can ever compare to this. But still, “I do too. But we can do that all day after we get back to your apartment.”

She tilts her head to the side and hums to herself before she nudges you back a little.

“I like the way you think, Hollis.”

And then she's opening the door for you and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek and you fleetingly wonder how exactly your life managed to take such a turn in the last year without completely destroying you in the process like it did when your mother left.

But then Carmilla is glancing at you as she takes a left turn and it all just makes sense.

You don't know _what_ exactly, but with her, you feel like you don't have to. You can just _be._

And you wrack your brain for it, try to remember everything you went through in the past few years, and the only time you ever recall feeling like this is when you're with Carmilla.

It's honestly ridiculous that you managed to go as long as you did without realizing you're in love with her.

//

There's something incredibly amazing about watching movies with Carmilla when you get to just throw yourself on top of her. Especially when you don't have to be scared that she's gonna realize it's less of a friendly act and more of a crushing desire you have to just be _close_ to her, no matter what you're doing.

It's also much more interesting when you don't have to force yourself to pay attention to the movie in those moments where she shifts from her position under you and her shirt - well, _your_ shirt - rides up just enough for your hands to start itching for her all over again.

And then you remember you don't have to stop yourself anymore, so you let your fingers slip under her shirt and you can't help but marvel at the way her skin just seems to warm up under your touch.

You wonder if it's always been like that and you'd just been too blind to notice it.

“You're not watching the movie.” Carmilla says once your hands move past her stomach and your fingers brush the sports bra she's swearing under one of your soccer jerseys.

Wall-E is one of your favorite animations, but you can't bring yourself to pay attention when the alternative is feeling the way Carmilla’s muscles stretch under your palm.

So you hum in agreement. “I know.”

“You're the one who said you wanted to watch a movie.” Despite her words, her hands slide from where they've been resting on your back to grip your hips just as she slips one leg between yours.

You tug her bottom lip between your teeth. “Yes, I did.”

There's great satisfaction in the way Carmilla lets out a frustrated groan once you let go of her lips, and even more so when she bucks against you, her nails digging into your skin.

(You didn't even notice that she managed to bypass your shirt, but you're not complaining.)

The moment is short-lived, though, because as soon as you decide to stop torturing her and lean down for a _real_ kiss, the sound of the doorbell echoes through her apartment and effectively ruins your moment.

You immediately decide you hate whoever is behind that door.

“Are you expecting anyone?” You ask Carmilla as you pull back, working on redoing the messy bun she somehow managed to pull free.

“You're here,” she points out, and you're secretly glad that she looks as murderous as you feel right now. “So no.”

You let out a heavy sigh as you make your way to the door and you hear Carmilla grunting as she drops back against the throw-pillows.

“Just get rid of whoever it is, we have _better_ things to do.”

There's honestly no way you could agree more.

In fact, you're so frustrated with the interruption that you don't ever bother checking who is behind the door before you open it, which is probably why you're even more shocked than you'd probably already be when you find Perry and LaFontaine waiting on the other side.

“Hey, L.” LaFontaine grins at you, not even bothering with pleasantries as they slip past you and into Carmilla’s apartment. “Wednesday.” They call out to her.

You look between them and you furrow your eyebrows because you _don't_ recall either of them mentioning this visit and you _definitely_ don't remember buzzing them up.

Carmilla seems to be on the same train of thought as you, because she glares at LaFontaine. “How the fuck did you get up here?”

“Oh!” Perry grins, giving you a quick hug before she follows LaFontaine. “Your lovely neighbour let us in! LaFontaine and I helped her with her groceries, she was very sweet. And her cats are adorable.”

You're even more confused than before; you distinctly remember Carmilla telling you how much of an awful person her neighbour was last time the subject came up.

“Did you get a new neighbour, Carm?”

She rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure that old creep is gonna outlive all of us, so that's not likely.”

“Carmilla!” Perry gasps as LaFontaine snickers to themselves.

You know this can quickly spiral into Carmilla kicking them out, so you decide it’s best to stop them while you can.

“Not to be rude,” you start, ignoring the way that Carmilla snorts to herself and mumble something that sounds distinctively like _please be rude._ “What are you two doing here?”

LaFontaine perks up at that. “Halloween costumes!”

Perry nods enthusiastically and Carmilla groans to herself.

“That's not for another two weeks.” She says.

“Well,” LaFontaine says, moving to take a seat in the empty armchair across from where Carmilla has moved to a seated position after - sadly, in your humble opinion - making herself presentable. “Some of us unfortunately don't have the luxury of not needing a costume.”

Carmilla narrows her eyes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You sigh to yourself and you walk to the kitchen to get them drinks before things can get even more out of control. Your friends and Carmilla have hung out together quite a few times in the past several months and _usually_ they get along just fine once you manage to make Carmilla retreat her claws, but you're not too keen on the idea of doing that when Perry and LaFontaine are interrupting the time you two could be using for other, _more interesting_ activities.

LaFontaine raises their hands, “I'm just saying, you basically look like someone who walked out of a horror movie anyway. You don't need much effort.”

“Sweetheart,” Perry sighs. “I don't think you're helping the situation.”

They look away from Carmilla to meet her gaze, “Can you honestly tell me she doesn't look scary, Per?”

You notice the moment Carmilla plans on jumping at their throat and you press a beer to her hand just before she can launch herself from the couch, throwing her a pointed look as you force a smile on her lips.

“No fighting.” You whisper between your teeth, pressing a kiss to her cheek right before you turn to hand Perry and LaFontaine their own drinks.

“Couldn't you have texted me to discuss this?” You say, making sure that your thigh is pressed against Carmilla's when you take your seat next to her.

“We could, but-” LaFontaine stops, eyeing the lack of space between you and Carmilla and then quickly turning to Perry. “I just remembered, I need to finish an assignment that's due tomorrow and we need to go.”

“But we just got here.” Perry points out. “You didn't even tell them of our idea to pick a group costume.”

“Per,” they settle their glass down right before taking Perry’s drink and doing the same. “It's a _very_ important assignment.”

You exchange a look with Carmilla and she just shrugs at you. Whatever is going on, you're sure she's just as glad as you are that they're not planning on staying.

“Fine,” Perry agrees. Then, she turns to you and Carmilla. “We'll discuss this later?”

“Yeah, some other time. Text me your ideas."

“We can show ourselves out.” LaFontaine says, and then they're waving at you and pushing their girlfriend out of the apartment as fast as they walked in.

You try to understand why they'd bother to visit only to leave that fast, but then Carmilla is settling her beer down and her lips are ghosting over your neck and everything else just vanishes from your mind in the way things seem to do whenever she is around.

You're already distracted from the movie anyway, you might as well make the most of it.

//

Later that night, your phone rings from Carmilla's bedside table and you unlock the screen to find a text from LaFontaine staring back at you.

 

**LaFontaine (11:34 P.M.):**

Hey L, how's your heart?

 

You glance down to where Carmilla's arms are wrapped around your waist as she sleeps soundly against you and you can't even stop the grin that stretches on your lips.

You're typing up your answer when Carmilla pulls you even closer to her so you quickly finish and you put your phone away right before you tangle your fingers with hers and you settle in her arms for the night.

 

**Laura (11:36 P.M.):**

It’s stronger than ever, LaF.

 

For the first time since that night in the tent, you let the steady rhythm of Carmilla's soft breaths lure you to sleep.

//

“No.”

“But, baby-”

Carmilla rolls her eyes, crosses her arms and looks away from you. “Don't _baby_ me. It's not gonna work.”

It's totally gonna work.

“Please.” You press on, pulling her closer to you and pressing soft kisses to her neck and the bits of her shoulder that are exposed through her top. “For me.”

She says, “You can't seduce me into doing this, cupcake.”

But then she tilts her head to give you more room as your kisses grow less and less innocent and you realize that _you totally can._

Which is a fun little trick to have up your sleeve, if you do say so yourself.

“I promise I'll make it worth your while.”

She groans. “People are gonna make fun of me, Laura.”

“ _I_ won't.”

“Laura,” she whines and you're so shocked with the fact that Carmilla Karnstein just _whined_ over something that you almost lose your focus on the conversation. “It's a stupid costume.”

You pull her skin between your teeth, slipping your tongue past them to soothe the bite after you let go.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she curses, throwing her head back and pushing her hips forward. “That's not fucking fair.”

“Will you do it?”

She rolls her eyes again. “Can't you pick something less, I don't know - something _less?_ ”

And yeah, maybe you could, but the images in your mind are so clear and you want to share this with Carmilla, no matter how stupid she seems to think it is.

So you figure out might as well take business into your hands.

(Literally.)

“Carmilla.” You say, just as you pop the button of her jeans and zip them down. Then, you waste no time slipping your hand inside her underwear.

(She's wearing your favorite pair of her boyshorts, but you don't let yourself get distracted by this fact right now.)

“Will you do it?”

She pushes against your fingers and glares at you when you don't give into her wishes.

“It's a yes or no question, baby.”

“I hate you so much.”

“That's okay.” You kiss her. “Will you?”

“Yes,” she growls. “Now can we skip to the part where you just fuck me already?”

You kiss her again, this time deeper and more urgently as you finally decide to put you both out of your misery.

“Thank you.”

She only moans in response when you finally slip your fingers into her.

//

Carmilla has a game the day before Halloween and you don’t even think much of it when you take one of her jerseys and slips it on right before you leave your house.

It's a clear sky night and you let yourself take a minute once you get to the school rink to find the star you gave her for her birthday, just for the heck of it. It's been a thing since that day out in the soccer field and every time you manage to locate the small but bright little dot in the sky, you can't help but being a little proud of your gift idea.

She doesn't know, but you didn't just give her a star because she likes to look at them. You gave it to her because, to you, Carmilla _is_ a star.

And you're sure many other people who've seen her play would say the same, but your reasons have nothing to do with hockey and everything to do with how she just has a light of her own and how she just takes your breath away whenever you look at her.

(You could probably spend your entire life around her and you'd still get starstruck - pun very much intended - every time your eyes turn her away.)

The arena is packed once you take your usual seat at the third row, and you're not really surprised to find Kirsch already there, but the _Lawrence_ jersey he's wearing certainly amuses you.

The words are out of your mouth before you can even think them through.

“Well, you certainly brought out the girlfriend support, eh?"

Kirsch eyes you for a moment and then he smirks, “You're one to talk, little Hollis.”

That confuses you.

“Why do you say that?”

And then Kirsch is pointing to the glaring number 13 on your - on _Carmilla’s_ \- jersey and _oh._

“I'm not- she's not- w-we’re-” you stutter, and you hate the way Kirsch’s smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “We're not in a relationship.”

He nods. “Sure you're not.”

It doesn't take a genius to realize that he doesn't buy your words for a second.

You have every intention on arguing with him. You and Carmilla _are not_ girlfriends, though yes, you do sleep at her house and you have sex with her quite often - _amazing sex_ , actually - and you absolutely love kissing her, but, well, you're just not dating. Well, technically you _are_ , but you're also not.

And you're about to let Kirsch know that, but then Carmilla is stepping on to the ice and the crowd is going insane and you can't help the way a smile just takes over your face because they might all be screaming for her, but _she's yours._

Not your girlfriend, no, but that doesn't really matter.

It doesn't matter because you're the one she turns to after she skates a lap around the rink and you're the one she waves to just as the game is starting and you're the one whose gaze she meets when she scores the only two goals of the game.

“What was that thing you said again?” Kirsch asks you once the Ravens have retreated to the locker room and the arena is slowly clearing out. “Not your girlfriend?”

You glare at him. “Shut up, Kirsch."

He raises his arms in surrender and starts to climb down the bleachers.

Once he's all the way down at the bottom, he turns to you again.

“You might wanna do something about that, bro.”

And you think that, yeah, maybe you do.

//

You get ready for Halloween at Carmilla's house.

It takes a considerable amount of time because she insists on taking off every piece of clothing you manage to put on - and you can say that you _really_ mind it terribly - so it's a few hours before the two of you actually manage to get ready.

“I look ridiculous.” Carmilla complains, tugging on one of her striped black and white sleeves. “Explain to me again how I let you talk me into this.”

You shrug. “I gave you orgasms. You happened to like them quite a bit, if I recall correctly.”

“I don't think they were good enough to justify this.” She says, and you watch in amusement as she glances at her outfit again and curls her lips in a pout. “Why do you get to have the dress?”

“First, I'm offended,” you tell her, fixing the goggles on top of her head. “Second, I've seen you wearing a dress _once_ in my whole life, Carm.”

“Well, it's not as if you've ever seen me wearing this awful shade of yellow either,” she snarks. “Yet here we are.”

You ignore the sarcasm dripping from her words and you press a last kiss to her lips before you nudge her towards the door.

“Let's go, stop being a baby.”

She glares at you. “Oh, so I can only be your _baby_ when you're trying to get me to wear atrocious outfits, isn't it? I see how it is.”

//

LaFontaine bursts out laughing as soon as you and Carmilla walk through the door.

They're wearing a black pants and a blue shirt in an uniform you only recognize because they've forced you into endless hours marathoning _Star Trek_ when you were growing up, and you haven't even seen Perry around yet but you have a feeling you're gonna find her in a matching yellow uniform when you do.

“Hey there, Dr. McCoy.” You greet them.

They glance between you and Carmilla and their grin only grows bigger.

“Wall-E and Eve.” They shake their head. “Could you two be any more disgusting?”

You're not even surprised when Carmilla flips them off but that only seems to make LaFontaine laugh even harder.

“Yeah,” they snort. “That's not even effective anymore, Karnstein. Your badass reputation has been totally ruined.”

“Whatever.” Carmilla rolls her eyes. Then, she places a hand on your waist and she leans close to you. “I'm gonna get us drinks, okay?”

You nod to her and she glares at LaFontaine one more time before she disappears into the crowd, the yellow of her shirt slowly fading from your view.

“How _the hell_ did you convince her to do that?”

You glance back at them and you can't help the smirk that curls on your lips as you give them what you hope is an innocent shrug. “I guess I have my ways.”

LaFontaine glances at you in the same way they did right before they dragged Perry away from Carmilla's house and they nod to themselves.

“I'm sure you do, L.”

They excuse themselves to go find Perry and you take the opportunity to make your way towards the kitchen, where Carmilla is probably raiding the counter for her poison for the night.

She finds you halfway there, though, and you're not surprised when she hands you a red solo cup filled with orange juice.

“What are you having tonight?” You ask, taking a sip of your drink.

“Grape.” She informs you, offering her own cup towards you.

You shake your head and though it isn't the first time she's chosen to go a night sober, you can't help being a little surprised.

“I thought you'd be half on your way to getting drunk to forget the shame of your costume.”

She shrugs, tugging you close to her. “I wanted to enjoy this night with you. I don't mind that you're making me wear this stupid costume.”

That surprises you even more. “You don't?”

“Nah,” she shakes her head. “Even if Kirsch and Lawrence _did_ have the time of their lives teasing me for it just now.”

You glance towards the living room where Kirsch and Danny are wearing matching Viking costumes and you roll your eyes at them because - _boring._

“Let them.” You say, and you glance around before you press a kiss to her lips. “You look really cute right now.”

“I don't do cute, cupcake.” She huffs.

And you giggle to yourself, because she _totally_ does.

“You totally do, baby.”

“Oh, so I'm your baby again, eh?”

You take a sip from your drink and you grin behind your cup, thanking every deity in this world that you get to share this moment with her right now.

“Always my baby.”

When you meet her gaze, it feels as if your heart is bursting with all the love you have for her.

There hasn't been a moment in your life when you recall ever being truly happy, but you look at Carmilla right then and you can't imagine a way things could be more perfect.

(And if that particular thought scares you, you refuse to acknowledge it in that moment.)

(Ignorance _is_ bliss, after all.)

 

* * *

 

“Speed.”

You look up from the cards in your hand. “No way.”

Will smiles and shows you the lack of cards in his.

“You cheated.”

“I didn’t, Kitty. I promise” He laughs. “Besides, how do you even cheat at Speed?”

You’re not sure how that’s possible either, but the competitor in you still can’t believe your brother beat you at a card game you’ve gone undefeated playing. Until now, anyway.

“I don’t know, but you must have. Even Laura can’t beat me at Speed.”

He stops gathering cards for a minute and studies you carefully.

“Laura, huh? That your girlfriend?”

You’re about to bite his head off at the tease when you realize he is legitimately asking the question.

“We’re not - she’s not - ” You huff at the smile spreading on his face. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know like you don’t know the answer to Hilbert’s sixteenth problem or you don’t know like you could easily pull out a calculator and solve it but you haven’t?”

“We haven’t talked about it.” You tell him, watching him shuffle the cards to make sure he doesn’t pull any shit.

“Why don’t you?”

“Why’d you pull a disappearing act?” You shoot back, narrowing your eyes.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re combative.”

“You cheated.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

He starts dealing the cards, glaring at you the whole time. When he’s done, you reach out to flip the middle cards over but he grabs your hand.

“You’re not gonna tell her where I am, are you?”

You both know which _her_ he’s referring to.

“Fuck no. I haven’t even told Mattie I’ve seen you yet.” Your eyes meet. “Oh don’t look at me like that, of course I’m telling Mattie. I’m done with all the bullshit in this family. I let you crash here whenever you want, don’t I? “

He doesn’t look convinced that the idea is a good one.

“Fine, I won’t say anything. But if you don’t tell her by the end of the month, I’m telling her.”

“Fine.” He grimaces and lets go of your hand. “Best of seven?”

“Don’t you have homework to do?”

“I finished it all at school, _Mom_.”

“Good because I’m going to beat you so badly that you’re going to be questioning how intelligent you actually are for the rest of your life.”

He rolls his eyes and smiles that challenging smile that you recognize all too well thanks to seeing it on Mattie’s face, and your own, on a regular basis.

(He beats you four games to three and you conclude that now that both he and Laura are in your life, you might as well kiss winning goodbye.)

//

On the first weekend of the month, Laura has her first game.

She plays well and you make sure she knows it before the two of you drive out to Starbucks. You would have pegged her for the kind of girl who’d try to hold your hand while it’s on the gearshift, but no, she’s much more focused on belting out her own renditions of whatever songs are playing on the radio.

It’s so different from the almost silent car rides you’ve grown accustomed to that it takes you back to the first few times Laura got into your car. The trip down memory lane only gets worse when Laura breaks a chocolate chip cookie in half and hands you a piece once the two of you are settled in at your now regular table.

What you’re doing must bring memories back for her too because she only takes one sip of her drink before she asks, “Do you remember the first time we were here together?”

You nod at her, too busy remembering how many times you’ve marvelled at how pretty she is from across this table. That, at least, hasn’t changed. Though you think she might be at her prettiest when she’s on her back in your bed looking completely wrecked because of your mouth.

“What did you just think?” Laura asks suspiciously and you realize your mouth has twisted up into a smirk. You try to school your expression back to normal, but Laura laughs and shakes her head. “Oh no you don’t. Tell me.”

You lean forward on your elbows and Laura mirrors the position so that your foreheads touch. She bumps her nose against yours and giggles and you don’t even care that you’re in a coffee shop full of people, you just have to lean in the rest of the way so you can kiss her.

“I was thinking,” You start, twirling a lock of her hair around your fingers. “about how pretty you look right after I’ve gone down on you.”

Laura blushes and pulls away and you would be worried by her abrupt withdrawal, but she drowns her drink before you can even think about it.

“Finish yours.” She says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I was just thinking the exact same thing.”

//

When Laura shows up to _your_ first game of the season, you just about keel over and die at the sight of her proudly wearing a number thirteen jersey.

She still has it on after the game and you can’t help but pin her against the door as soon as you’re inside your apartment.

(You would be worried by the alarming amount of sex the two of you have been having if she wasn’t so hot and you weren’t so freaking in love with her.)

//

It’s not just the sex, though.

That’s amazing and wonderful and so good - Laura seems to know your body better than she knows the back of her hand which completely blows your mind - but that’s not what it’s all about. The two of you haven’t talked about it, but you think you’re on the same page if your routines are anything to go by.

You still run together in the mornings, but you now pick Laura up on your way to school and she walks you to class. More often than not, you eat lunch together too. After school, you go to your respective practices and Laura comes over once you’re both showered - showering together does the opposite of saving time - and you spend the rest of the evening together doing homework or watching TV or seeing how quickly you can tease each other into begging.

Some nights, Laura sleeps over.

And you’ve never been someone that can be described as clingy, but when it comes to her you just can’t help how much every part of you seems to crave her presence. It’s like you want her around all the time and when you wake up next to her in the mornings, you let yourself think about how it could be a few years down the line. How waking up to Laura’s lazy smiles could very well become a regular occurrence and how falling even more in love with her over top your coffee could become the way you start your day.

You think you’d like that.

//

Laura is like, really into the Halloween thing. So much into it in fact that she apparently doesn’t mind paying you - in the only currency you truly care about: orgasms - in exchange for your participation. You admit that you folded much quicker than even you had expected to when she pitched her favourite costume idea, but it’s only when the two of you are _shopping_ for said costumes that you truly think _I am so whipped_.

“Do you have the list?” She asks as she gets out of the car. You do the same before nodding in response and handing it over to her.

You walk up to the mall together and you fight your instinct to reach for her hand because the thought that _no one_ knows the two of you are together has begun bothering you more and more lately. You don’t need the world to know, but you also don’t want to push the public displays of affection to the point where she’s made uncomfortable by them.

Not that holding hands is a big gesture or anything. Platonic friends do it all the time, but you just - you aren’t sure you’re allowed to touch her like that.

It’s ironic that you spend most nights _touching_ her in more intimate ways, but you’re not even sure you can hold her hand in a mall.

The two of you start with your costume. Laura makes you try on more vests than you can count - and you’re a goddamn math major - before she is satisfied. She then manages to unearth a hideous brown - or yellow, it’s so ugly that you can’t even tell - long-sleeved shirt and striped arm warmers all within half an hour. You are seriously impressed.

You’re at a hardware store and pulling a pair of mechanic’s goggles off of your head when she grabs your hand in excitement because according to her they’re _perfect_ and you _have to pay for them right now_. Your breath catches in your throat when you realize she has no intention of dropping your hand now that she’s got a hold of it.

“You have enough ripped jeans that we don’t need to spend time and energy looking for another pair.” She tells you once you’ve paid, consulting her list. “But you do need brown combat boots. And then we do me.”

“And then I do you?” You clarify.

She laughs. “Maybe later, Carm. If we get all our shopping done and you try your costume on for me.”

“If I’m doing all that, then you’re definitely doing me first.”

“Deal.” She agrees. She gives you a quick kiss before tugging you in the direction of a shoe store, the name of which you don’t recognize.

The boots you end up buying are enough to your liking that you gladly carry the shopping bag the shoe store employee puts them in. You carry the bag Laura’s white flats come in as well. Laura, probably because she’s so pleased by the fact that your costume is now ready to be assembled, almost skips along by your side.

She buys a simple black mask and a white wig from one of the Halloween themed pop-up stores and then a long-sleeved white dress with a high neckline that makes your mouth water from a store you know Mattie frequents. When she finishes paying for the dress, she holds a hand up in front of you.

She rolls her eyes when you don’t react.

“Carmilla.” She says. “High five me.”

“Why?”

“We’re done shopping.”

You’re so glad for that that you skip the high five and go in for a kiss instead. Laura smiles against your lips and you curse the shopping bags in between the two of you for not allowing you to pull her in as close as you like.

“Once we’re not carrying ten pounds of clothes each.” You tell her. “We’re going to get started on my to-do list.”

“I’m the only thing on your to-do list, aren’t I?”

“Read my mind, cupcake.”

//

Laura sleeps over that night and in the morning, she makes you breakfast.

It’s not as if she hasn’t made breakfast in your kitchen hundreds of times before, but it’s a whole new experience when she does it wearing nothing but underwear and a loose fitting white shirt she’d found in your closet. She thinks it’s yours, but you’re not sure because it’s _white_ and suits her to the point that you can’t believe it isn’t custom made just for her.

You don’t distract her for the most part, content to just sit back and watch her from your seat at the table. But then a strand of hair comes loose out of the messy bun her hair’s pulled into and you get a little bit obsessed with how it brushes her bare shoulders as she moves around. Without thinking too much about it, you get up, push the hair out of the way, and replace its presence at her shoulder with your lips.

“You were doing so well.” Laura says on a groan as she flips a pancake and you suck a hickey at her shoulder. “Don’t distract me too much or the pancakes burn.”

“We don’t need breakfast.”

“Uh, yeah we do. Pretty sure we both did the equivalent of running around the pitch for ninety minutes last night.”

“Probably.” You move on to her neck and Laura curses under her breath. She takes the spatula and adds the newest pancake to the nice stack she’s building. “Let’s skip running today.”

It only takes a few more seconds and one of your arms wrapping around her waist for Laura to agree. You think it’s nice to be as effective on someone as they are on you.

//

The big Halloween party is better than you expected. Of course, Kirsch and Danny make fun of you for dressing as Wall-E, but you don’t really think their opinions count at this point because they’re both dressed up as vikings for crying out loud. You like LaFontaine’s costume best, but you don’t tell them that.

You and Laura spend the night mostly dancing along to whatever the crappy DJ is playing. You also play a game that involves keeping a tally on what costume is the most common. Laura picks _witch_ and she beats you by a landslide. Though, as you repeatedly tell her, it’s only probably because you are not very good at _Where’s Waldo?_ and you only spot four out of the hundreds that were probably there.

There are also parlour games going on and you and Laura are content just laughing at your friends playing until the announcer introduces a game that involves a gift certificate to the Italian place on campus as a prize. The game is played in pairs and is easy enough, each pair has to stand on a page taken out of a newspaper together without touching the ground, that is until the later rounds - the paper is folded in half after each round - when someone has to stand on tiptoe or on one foot. Pretty soon, it’s just you and Laura against a cocky football player and his girlfriend and the two of you win easily when the paper gets to be so small that he just gives up without even putting up a fight.

You don’t recall ever having this much fun at a party before, but then again you’re not usually sober or allowed to stick as close to Laura as possible during these things. You think you probably wouldn’t mind getting dressed up again next year if it means _Laura_ is the one you’re making the effort for.

She comes home with you afterwards and you’re both so tired that you don’t do anything other than help each other get ready for bed. Laura steals one of your sweaters to sleep in and you tuck your hands under the material and around her back for warmth and also for the purposes of keeping her close. You’re so comfortable that you’re almost asleep when she tries to get your attention.

“Yeah?” You mumble into her shoulder.

“We’re together, right?”

“What?”

She sits up and you have to shift in order for her to do so comfortably. Her eyes are wide, like she can’t quite believe what she’s saying and you prop yourself up on your elbow so you can look at her.

“It’s just that I had a really amazing time with you tonight and we looked really good in our matching costumes and that’s something that couples do and so it made me wonder if that’s what we are.” She clears her throat. “And I know we’ve only really gone on one date, but are we? A couple?”

“We can be whatever you want us to be.” It’s a cop out and you know it, but after the events of the summer, you’ve learned it’s best to just shrink everything you feel for her into whatever she’s comfortable with.

“You’re in this relationship, too. You can tell me what you want.”

“What I want - I’m perfectly happy - “ You cut yourself off because you don’t want to lie. “I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for, but if being your girlfriend means I can hold your hand - “

“My girlfriend?”

You chance a look at her. “Okay, I’m stupid. I thought that’s what you were asking me. What are you asking me?”

“No, you got it.” Laura fiddles with her fingers. “After what you were saying, I just wasn’t sure if you were at the point where - “

You scramble up onto your knees and crawl up so you’re face to face. Laura’s hand immediately comes up to your cheek.

“I’m there. Was there. So long ago.” You say and then you think _fuck it_ and throw caution to the wind. “Laura, how I feel about you is so far past girlfriend that it’s scaring me.”

“Yeah.” She breathes out, bringing your foreheads close. “I know the feeling.”

“At least we’re both scared, right? Strength in numbers. We’re in this together?”

“You’re talking like you’re going into a haunted house or something.”

You think _this is a thousand times scarier than a haunted house_.

“Laura Hollis.” You say instead, tapping the tip of her nose with your index finger. “Are you saying I’ll be telling horror stories about you one day?’

Laura mimics an evil laugh, “That’s if I ever let you go, my pretty.”

You know it’s just her playing along, but the thought of her never letting you go makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t really describe how you feel or what you’re thinking except that it all just finally makes sense. The past few months, everything you’ve gone through with Laura, the one space science class you took in freshman year.

In fact, you might send that space science class professor an email because you don’t think you’ve ever understood the idea that you’re moving through space at the speed of millions of miles per hour even when you’re standing still as well as you do in this moment, with Laura’s face in between your hands. Really, it’s the only thing that explains the remarkable speed at which you’re hurtling towards _forever_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	18. Interlude III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rupinder is a Starbucks employee and her two favourite customers happen to be stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys keep hitting kudos and we keep doing interludes for every thousand, this fic may never end.
> 
> This is all for Kaitlyn, who keeps making time to read the things we write. Obama, K.

The first time the sad girl comes in, it’s noon and raining.

You remember exactly what day it is because it is also your daughter Avneet’s first day at the university. You had packed her samosas and reminded her not to go walking empty hallways on her own - she is adventurous - and you want to warn this girl not to also. She is small and sad. She looks lonely.

“What can I get for you?” You ask her when it’s her turn to order. She looks up at the board and you notice for the first time how big her bag is compared to her body. She will have back problems in the future, probably.

“A chai tea latte, please.”

You wait for her to say what size but she doesn’t. “Tall, grande, venti - “

“Just a grande please.” She notices you weren’t done speaking and blushes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

You _tut_ at her. You can already see she has a lot in common with Avneet.

“Name?”

“Oh. Laura.”

You write her name on the cup and you wonder if Laura’s mother knows that her daughter shares the name of a saint that the Spanish threw in a vat of lead.

It is not a name of good luck.

//

The mean girl comes in two days later. It is the morning rush and you draw yourself up to your full height when you see she is next because she is scowling and looks like she may yell.

You do not allow anyone to yell at you.

“Hi.” She says before you can greet her. “May I please have a venti black coffee?”

You are impressed by her ability to sound polite while looking murderous.“Your name?”

She taps her fingers on the counter. “Joan.”

“Like, of Arc? Cause you’re on fire.”

You don’t need to turn to know that it’s the Tommy boy with the funny hair talking.

“No.” Joan snaps, glaring at the boy over your shoulder. “Like Joan Jett. Who shares my ability to bludgeon someone to death with a guitar.”

You like Joan.

//

They come in together for the first time the day after Avneet gets a 98% on her first university exam. You remember them as the sad one and the mean one. Joan’s name comes back to you soon enough, however. She threatened to beat that useless blonde boy with a guitar after all.

They both look like they’re lost and you want to ask if they meant to go to the McDonald’s across the street instead of here after they stand around for five minutes without ordering.

“Sorry.” Joan says, smiling at you when she finally comes up to the counter. “I’ll have a venti coffee, please. Black.”

She gestures at the sad girl to come forward.

“Come on, cutie. Order.” Joan says when she doesn’t. The girl has to be prompted once more before she turns to you.

“I’ll have a chai tea latte, please.” She says. “Grande. Thanks.”

She walks away before you can label her cup.

“Her name?” You ask Joan.

“Laura.” Right, saint thrown into boiling lead in Spain.

“You?”

A pause. “Janis.”

You raise an eyebrow at her and she just shrugs in response. You write _Janis_ on her cup while she pays using her card.

Later, after they spend some time sitting together, Janis comes back to buy a cookie. You watch her present it to Laura looking as smug as Avneet’s cat does when it comes back from outdoors and leaves dead animals at her feet. They share the treat and are still sitting together by the time your shift is over. The sad one doesn’t look so sad anymore and the mean one no longer looks ready to kill. You are glad they have each other.

//

The next time you see them, you like them a little bit more for not ordering anything off of the blasted Holiday menu. The sad one - Laura - is mopey and has a plastic cast on one foot. Janis, very practically, makes her sit down as soon as they walk through the doors. She then comes up to order.

“A venti black coffee, please. And a chai tea latte.” She looks at Laura and and her lips twitch. “Maybe with an extra shot of syrup.”

“Cookie?” You offer because you think she will probably come back for it later and you want to spare you both the extra few minutes.

Janis purses her lips. “Sure.”

You pull your marker out and you’re about to write their names down from memory - customers like to be remembered - when she says, “Latte, Laura. Coffee, Joni.”

You hope she is not giving the sad one fake names.

// 

They start coming in more often. Two times a week, in fact. Half an hour before your shift ends. Once, a different employee is at the counter and Joan - Janis, Joni - looks murderous by the time she gets back to her table.

The different employee’s name is Aidan. He does not like the smell of your lunches. You do not like his fake glasses and his blonde beard. Joan probably doesn’t like how he flirts with every girl he sees without a wedding ring.

You think she and the one named like the executed Spanish saint are together. They spend too much time looking at each other for them not to be. Avneet and her friends do not look at each other like that.

//

One of the nice young women you work with asked you to switch shifts so that she can watch the school hockey game with her boyfriend and it is for Valentine’s Day, so you had agreed.

Your husband had laughed and called you a romantic. He also had flowers delivered to you during your lunch break.

The shift is slow. You think you can probably go home early if it continues to be. Three regulars come in and there is an afternoon rush, but other than that, nothing. You spend your time making the front counter the cleanest one in the country.

It is fifteen minutes before you are about to leave - you can see Avneet’s car in the parking lot and you smile at how she takes pride in her punctuality -  when the mean one walks in.

She is wearing a jacket that says _C. Karnstein_ on the arm. You pull out a venti and a grande cup before she even makes it to the counter. You write _Laura_ on the grande cup.

“Name today?” You ask when she finally walks up.

She laughs. “I’ll go with Joan.”

She nods at you as she’s walking out the door with their drinks.

//

They are not together.

If they were, you think there would not be this much staring while the other one is looking somewhere else.

It is the first day of June and they are the only two in the store with hot drinks in front of them. They are talking and staring at each other stupidly. You watch them out of the corner of your eye while you’re refilling the bottles of syrup. Laura does not look sad and C. Karnstein does not look mad.

You are always happy to see them because it usually means you are very close to going home.

Laura laughs loudly just as you are walking towards the door and you catch the way Joan is beaming back at her and you think that they are both very stupid.

//

Something is different next time you see them. Ratesh had taken you vacationing for your anniversary and all the regulars ask how you’ve been. You have been away for almost a full month and you are happy to see the two customers whose presence means that you will be clocking out soon.

When they come up to the counter, you are surprised they are paying separately.

Laura orders first. When you get to writing a name on the cup meant for the venti black coffee, the mean girl just gives a small smile.

“You can just put Laura on that one, too.

“Is it hers?” You ask, already starting on writing on the cup.

“No.” She laughs and it sounds so sad that you look at her. She is looking over at Laura. “It may as well be.”

//

You think that you will have to call them both the sad one a month later when the girl who keeps giving you fake names comes in by herself. She does not correct you when you pull out two cups. Nor does she say anything when you write _Laura_ on the smaller cup.

“Name?” You ask her, hoping she’ll break her silence.

“Carmilla.” She says, fingers drumming against your clean countertop.

Tommy, behind you, says, “I like that name.”

Carmilla does not respond and you want to ask if something has happened. This is also how Avneet gets when something goes wrong - quiet, closed off, not quite conversational. But she is not your daughter and so you do not say anything.

You do consider it again, though, when she takes both drinks, sets one down across the table from her, and then crumbles in on herself. Her face is still pressed into her palms when you are leaving to go home.

//

The next time they come in, it’s October. The leaves are falling and being dragged into the shop by the bottom of customers’ shoes.  You send one of the useless blonde boys to sweep up and he’s almost done when Carmilla and Laura come in and leave a track of mud. You do not think you have ever appreciated them more.

They’re holding hands and laughing to themselves and when it comes time for them to order, they’re so wrapped up in each other that you just assume they are getting the same two drinks they’ve been ordering for the past year. Customers who waste your time by not being focused when it’s their turn to order are not good customers in your books. But the image of the young woman sitting at a table by herself with her head in her hands is still fresh in your mind.

You don’t charge them for the cookie. You think it’s an appropriate reward now that they have both stopped being stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
> 
> We'll try get November to you all very soon!


	19. November - Junior Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: they really need to learn how to communicate jesus fucking christ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Enjoy!

When the temperature starts to drop around November, you become _less_ fond of your runs with Carmilla and _more_ fond of the showers you two take together - to save water, of course - when you get back to her apartment.

She's all smooth skin under your touch and you find yourself fascinated with the way the water droplets seem to travel across her body like they're on a mission to tease you as much as possible, as if you need to crave her any more than you already do on a regular basis.

In hindsight, maybe the weather has absolutely nothing to do with lack of excitement with your runs and it's all about the fact that you'd honestly just rather skip them altogether so that you could spend more time with Carmilla.

Kissing her. Touching her. Holding her.

(Loving her.)

Even your classes seem more boring than ever and you sometimes catch yourself wondering why you ever thought the idea of trying to get into med school would be a good one.

Your brain decides to play tricks on you and you start to remember things like that time you first dissected a frog in high school and then proceeded to puke all over the poor dead animal and it just all gets worse from there. It’s like you can’t master enough will to pay attention to your classes and you only do your homework because Carmilla insists on helping you with that, otherwise you know you’d probably be facing another formal reprimand from your coach about your grades dropping again.

Soccer is your silver lining - you still have that and it's still exciting - but everything else is _Carmilla._ All of your free time, all of your activities, all of your thoughts… She takes over all that.

And you're frightened. You _are._ But it all feels like those moments when you used to run so fast you thought your knees would snap but you just couldn't stop yourself because the _thrill._

The exhilaration.

You thought from the beginning Carmilla would be like a drug to you.

You just never imagined that you'd love the high so much.

//

You're telling Carmilla about one of the upcoming games you have - it's one of the most important ones of the season, because you're close to the playoffs and the team is your number one adversary - when it dawns on you that she isn't exactly paying attention.

Normally, you wouldn't mind - she's pressed against you in all the right ways and her fingers absently playing with your hair is one of your favorite things in this world, along with Carmilla's smell and the way her breathing just gets a little erratic whenever she's around you - but it's _Carmilla._

She's always paid attention to you.

Maybe not in the ways that you've liked - both of you were dumb for a very long time - but you've always been used to the way her gaze will just focus on you as if she's trying to read into the depths of your soul and to have her spacing out is… It's weird.

Especially because you can't deny you like the attention she gives you.

“Hey,” you say, wondering how deep in her thoughts she is. “We’re dating, right?”

Carmilla doesn’t look at you. In fact, you’d think she was asleep it weren’t for her fingers still moving against your hair.

“Yeah.”

You nod to yourself.

A moment later, you continue, “Do you wanna get matching tattoos?”

There’s a pause in her movements and you think maybe you managed to finally get her attention, but she only shifts closer to you and gets back to her motions.

“Sure.”

“Of blue baby dolphins?” You ask, finally accepting that she’s _definitely_ not paying attention to you.

Carmilla hums. “That makes sense, cupcake.”

With a sigh, you poke her side, hoping to get her out of her revelries. When that doesn’t work, you finally decide you’ve had enough and you grip her shoulder that’s not pressed against you and you shake her a bit, hoping that will be enough to bring her back to you.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asks, and she doesn’t open her eyes though you feel her hand moving from your hair to your waist and slipping under your shirt.

“I could be asking you the same thing.” A sense of deja vu takes over you as the words are out of your mouth, but you can’t help the poor impression of her you make when you recall what just happened. “I just suggested we get matching dolphin tattoos and you said _that makes sense, cupcake_.”

Carmilla laughs, and the way the sound seems to travel out of her mouth and into your body, lightning you up inside is enough to make you do the same.

“Fuck.”

You turn to meet her gaze - she’s _finally_ opened her eyes - and you feel your breath catching in your throat for what feels like the thousandth time when you realize how _beautiful_ Carmilla is.

And how she’s _yours._

Somehow, the image of Carmilla’s half-lidded eyes as she leans closer to your touch makes everything worth it. All the awful things that happened in your life, all the heartbreak you had to deal with just to get to this moment, _she’s_ worth all that.

It’s as if karma is finally rewarding you for all the pain and suffering you went through in your life.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She answers immediately, and you're not really surprised. You've been around Carmilla for a while now and you're very familiar with her tendency to over analyze things - put all the pieces of the puzzle together, solve the entire equation - before she actually talks about it.

And you would be a hypocrite if you forced her to share anything she isn't ready, so you don't push her for it.

“Okay.” You say, and you lean closer to her and you brush your nose against hers because you still want her to know that you're here for her. “Just know that we can, if you want. Talk about it, I mean.”

And then Carmilla is kissing you and it feels like everything is _right_ , despite everything wrong that you've both had to go through.

“It'll be okay, Carm.” You tell her as you pull back.

When you settle your head under her chin and you hold her close to you just as you fall asleep, you realize that this might be the first time you actually believe those words.

//

A couple of weeks into November, Jamie brings out a box of papers and other office supplies and makes you sit on the floor with her. It’s weird, yeah, but so is all of the other things she’s made you do over the months you’ve been seeing her and you’ve learned not to question her methods because they always seem to work somehow.

“Are we doing arts and crafts today?” You still ask, throwing a weary glance to the scissor in front of you. “Because I’m not very good with that.”

“Christmas decorations, actually.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “It’s November.”

“I’m aware.” She says, producing a Christmas tree made out of folded paper. “But origami is a nice way to pass the time and this office isn’t going to decorate itself.”

“Has anyone ever told you how weird you are?”

Jamie only smiles at you. “I think you’ve spent a fair amount of your health care coverage doing exactly that, if I were to put the minutes together.”

You didn’t think of this, actually, but you suppose she has a point. Between painting her office and taking you out for a walk in the park, you _have_ actually spent quite a fair amount of time telling your therapist that she’s weird in her ways.

But then you think of all that she’s helped you figure out so far and you think maybe weird was exactly what you needed when you first went to your school counselor. You remember as if it were yesterday how skeptical you were when Dr. Catherine said Jamie could help you work through your issues and you think she’d be proud of how far along you’ve come.

(You make a mental note to stop by her office sometime soon.)

And then a thought slips into your mind and out of your mouth before you can even think to stop it.

“Do you think I’m better?”

Jamie doesn’t pause as she folds a piece of brown paper into the base of a pine tree.

“I don’t think I’m the one who should be answering that, wouldn’t you agree?”

You furrow your brows, trying to align the two edges of your paper together like your therapist taught you. “But you’re my doctor. Like, if I’m getting better you’re supposed to know that, right?”

“What do you see here, Laura?” Jamie asks you as she raises a piece of green craft paper in front of you.

Before, your first instinct would probably have been to roll your eyes at her. Now, though, you don’t waste any time before giving her an answer.

“I see a piece of paper.”

She nods and you watch as she lowers the paper down to the floor and proceeds to fold it in a different - more intricate - way than the one she showed you for the  tree.

It’s a few minutes before she brings it to your eye-level again.

“What do you see now?”

“A flower.”

Jamie nods. “And is this flower better than the paper was?”

“Well,” you hesitate, because you’re _really_ not sure where she’s going with this. “Yeah? I mean, a piece of paper is just a piece of paper.”

“That’s the thing,” Jamie smiles at you, that smile you’ve come to know means she’s about to throw something very deep at you. “It’s still a paper. It will _always_ be a piece of paper. But you fold it here and you bend it there, and it changes. It becomes one of the many things it always had the possibility of being. It’s just that this paper couldn’t become a flower on its own.”

She didn’t answer your question, not really, but still - you _get it._ Or at least, you think you do.

And that’s the thing about Jamie. She has a very roundabout way of approaching things you need help with, but she somehow always seems to get the point across. It makes you wish that you had the ability of helping someone the way she’s helped you - and so many other people, if you would guess.

“Here,” she says, handing you the folded flower. “Keep this. As a reminder.”

“That I’m a piece of paper?”

She shakes her head. “That you can be a lot of things, Laura. You just need a little help.”

//

If you had known many months ago how it felt to sleep with Carmilla’s arms wrapped around you, you’re sure this would have _easily_ made the top of your list of things you love about her.

Which is kind of about you two, if you think about it, but it has a lot to do with how she smells and how she just always seems to slip her hand under your shirt so that she can press her palm against your stomach and how she fits perfectly against you, as if you two had always been two parts of a whole that just needed to find each other and - well, it’s just _perfect._

You’d sleep over at her apartment everyday if you didn’t think it would make your dad suspicious of things.

Actually, he probably already is. He’s thrown too many hints and given you way too much advice for it to be considered a random thing and he’s probably only waiting for you to properly introduce Carmilla as your girlfriend, but you have no idea _how._

So you just don’t.

You think you like having her all to yourself, in a way.

(You can’t be blamed for that, right?)

//

Carmilla grumbles when you tell her that Perry’s birthday is on the weekend and you swear you fall a little bit harder for her when you realize it’s because she didn’t have the time to buy your friend a present and she’s upset about that.

She’s upset. Because she _cares._ About one of your friends.

You just want to forget everything you need to do today just so that you can stay in bed finding ways to show her how amazing you think she is.

But you just smile at her. “I bought her a present. We could just share. Couples do it all the time.”

“Laura, she doesn’t even know we’re dating.”

And yeah, that’s true. No one does. But, again, that’s kind of like the thing with your dad. You’ve only been dating her for a couple weeks - officially, that is, because you feel as if you’ve been dating Carmilla for over a year now - and you don’t want to share this with anyone else yet. It might be selfish of you, but you can’t help the panic that rises to your throat at the idea of people knowing you’re together.

(You don’t know why that scares you so much, and - quite frankly - you’re scared to find out.)

“Details.” You tell her, and you wave your hand hoping that Carmilla won’t read too much into the casual dismissal. “So did you already have something in mind or were you going to Google ‘ _cool baking supplies’_ to get ideas?”

She goes silent, and you immediately know that this was exactly what she was planning on doing. Typical. It’s the kind of caring yet cool and unattached thing that your girlfriend would pull off and you’re just suddenly taken by that urge of kissing her you’ve grown so familiar with lately.

So you do. And then again and again while she browses the internet for a fitting gift for Perry, right up until the moment she hits the button and finishes the order.

Your kiss then is just the start for all the other plans you have for your afternoon.

//

You’ve been friends with Perry your whole life and you’ve always known that a _party_ in her vocabulary meant more of an afternoon tea with all the food you could eat and lots of board games, so you’re not surprised that that’s what you find once you walk through the door with Carmilla trailing behind you.

There’s alcohol, now, because LaFontaine insisted those were necessary once you all turned nineteen. You know Perry cares for that detail about as much as you do - which is not at all, really - but what’s a college party without copious amounts of vodka and cheap beer?

You see your teammates and it doesn’t take long before you find yourself immersed in a conversation about the upcoming playoffs and how the other teams are doing in the championship.

Carmilla disappears from your side and you assume she’s gone out to get herself a drink, so you continue to talk with your friends and once you find her over at the kitchen caught up in a game of beer pong with some kids you went to high school with, you can’t help the smile you throw her way.

There’s no denying that you love being by her side, but there’s something different about watching how she behaves around other people - so cool and collected - and comparing it to how she behaves around you - so sweet and caring.

It just makes you realize how lucky you are to get that part of her, which is why you can’t help the way your arm moves around her waist and you bump your head against her shoulder once it comes the time for Perry to blow her candles and everyone settles around her.

She’s still pressed against you when Perry starts opening her presents and you find your gaze flicking back and forth from the diminishing pile of gifts in front you to Carmilla, though you’re not really surprised she seems to hold your attention more than anything else that could possibly be happening in the room.

(You still manage to crack a joke about your present, though, because you can at least _pretend_ you’re paying attention to something other than your girlfriend.)

//

Perry pushes you aside to thank you for your gift once everyone scatters and that quickly turns into a reminiscing session that LaFontaine soon finds themselves dragged to and you feel on the verge of tears by the time they leave you say goodbye to a couple of guests that are going home.

You’ve been through so much and they never left your side, even when your head was too far up your ass for you to see that you were being a shitty friend to them. Between your friends and Carmilla, you think maybe Jamie was right - you _can_ become whatever you want.

That particular realization hits you so hard that you don’t even realize you’re not alone anymore until someone is waving a hand in front of your face.

You notice two things straight away: the someone is sitting far too close to your liking and they’re _definitely_ not Carmilla.

“Avery.” You nod, trying to put some distance between you and your old high school acquaintance only to realize that she’s gotten you nearly pressed against the far left end of the couch.

“How are you doing, Laura?” Avery says, and your brain is quick to make the comparison of how her sugary-sweet voice is not nearly as pleasant to your ears as Carmilla’s raspy one. “I feel like we haven’t really had time to catch up.”

You don’t know if you have anything at all to _catch up_ on with her, but for some reason the words get stuck in your throat when you try to get them out.

Instead, you find yourself saying, “I’m very good, actually. How about you?”

It doesn’t surprise you that that’s the wrong thing to say, because suddenly Avery is even closer to you and all you wanna do is get up so that you can put as much distance between you two as you possibly can.

Over a year ago you’d probably be thinking of how easy it would be to just let yourself enjoy this and drag Avery to the bathroom so that you could have a few moments of fun with her, but now just the _thought_ of being with anyone but Carmilla has the bile rising in your throat.

You take a deep breath at the thought of your girlfriend and when you focus on Avery again the way she’s blatantly ogling you makes your stomach twist.

“Listen,” she purrs, leaning closer to you. “Do you wanna get out of here? I think Perry would understand.”

You open your mouth to let out an answer - maybe that you need to help with the cleaning so you can’t, or that Perry needs you to go get more ice - when someone beats you to the punch.

“Hey,” Carmilla’s voice reaches your ears and it feels as if all the weight left your stomach. “You think you can help me with my eyeliner? I think I got some stuck in my eyes. Like, _inside._ It’s itching.”

Avery doesn’t seem pleased with the interruption but you don’t even glance back at her before you follow Carmilla into an empty hallway, a breath of relief escaping your lips once you find yourself away from the crowd.

You look around before you give her a quick kiss.

“Thanks.” You breath out. “She was all over me.”

“All over you is an understatement.” Carmilla says, and you take a step back at the sharpness in her tone.

You weren’t doing anything to spur Avery along and the fact that Carmilla seems to think you did has your guard immediately rising. You raise an eyebrow at her, “It’s not like I was encouraging it, Carmilla.”

“I didn’t say that.” She rolls her eyes, but then she presses a kiss to your forehead and you think maybe this is just a misunderstanding and it’ll blow over in a second. Then, Carmilla opens her mouth again. “I’m just saying, how hard would it have been to say _I have a girlfriend_ and move on?”

When you say _And what, have her accidentally let slip to Perry or LaFontaine that we’re together?_ you just know that you’ve managed to let your mouth get the best of you once again and that now you’ll have to face the consequences of that and all it takes is one look at your girlfriend’s face for you to know that it’s gonna take more than a forehead kiss to fix this.

//

It’s only when Carmilla leaves the party that you finally understand why you didn’t want anyone to know you two were together.

You’re tired of people pitying you when those who claim to love you turn around and walk away.

 

* * *

 

When October ends, you tell Mattie.

“How long have you known where he is?” She demands as soon as the words _I’ve seen Will_ leave your mouth.

You grimace, you’ve made a pact with yourself about honesty and you are not about to break that now. “A month.”

You watch her face closely. Her brow wrinkles and her lips purse before her expression goes blank. You mentally curse yourself for not lying as soon as it does because Mattie’s blank expression is _never_ a good sign.

“You knew Maman was worried. You knew that _I_ was worried.”

“Yeah, well, sorry you weren’t my biggest priority when my little brother came knocking on my door asking me for lunch money.”

“He asked you for lunch money? Do you understand how ridiculous that is? He cannot survive on his own.” Mattie crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you going to tell me why he ran away too or will I have to wait another month for that?”

You roll your eyes at her, “He hasn’t told me.”

“I’m going to tell Maman – “

“Mattie, don’t. I promised him – “

“You wouldn’t have told me he was at Silas if you thought he would be alright by himself.” You run a hand through your hair because she’s right. “You should have told me as soon – “

“I thought I could fix it.”

There’s a pause and Mattie takes advantage of it by standing and opening the door. You look at her, unable to believe that she’s really asking you to leave.

“You’re kidding.”

“Out.”

You pick your jacket up and stand. You’re almost out the door when you think about all the progress you and your sister have made and the thought of that going down the drain makes something in your chest ache. You turn to her and make one last effort to explain yourself.

“Look, I was just trying to figure out what – “

“And that’s your problem, Carmilla.” Mattie says, cutting you off. Her tone is almost harsh and her mouth is twisted into a grimace. “You treat people like they’re math and you don’t understand that problems don’t just go away after you’ve solved the equation.”

//

You’re lying on the couch with Laura and she’s going on about something or other while you mumble generic responses into the fabric of her shirt whenever she leaves a gap in between her words long enough to warrant feedback. It’s Saturday night and you don’t have anywhere else to be, but your mind seems to want to explore everything else going on in your life outside of the blanket Laura’s got wrapped around both of you.

There’s Mattie, who won’t respond to your texts – you’ve only sent two and they both went along the lines of _fuck you and your messed up sense of loyalty to that woman_ , but still – and Will, who won’t pick up your calls.

You are weighing the pros and cons of calling him again when the low hum of Laura’s voice reverberating in your ear that’s pressed against her stops and she shakes you a little bit.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, not bothering to move or open your eyes. You are far too warm and comfortable to move.

“I could be asking you the same thing.” Her voice has a hint of playfulness in it. “I just suggested we get matching dolphin tattoos and you said _that makes sense, cupcake_.”

You laugh, both at her horrid impersonation of you and the fact that she’d caught on. “Fuck.”

Laura laughs, too, and then shifts so that you’re face to face. You can feel her breath against your cheeks. It’s during small moments like this that you feel her presence the most. It makes you feel smaller, somehow, like all your worries are insignificant as long as you know you’ll find Laura staring back at you when you finally stop thinking about them and choose to be present with her instead.

It’s kind of like laying out in a field somewhere at night and thinking about your problems but then opening your eyes and realizing they’re nothing compared to the sky full of stars in front of you. You start to wonder when exactly it is that Laura started replacing the stars in your eyes, but there are too many instances to pick from.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Laura moves so that your noses rub together in an Eskimo kiss and you smile at how adorable she is. “Just know that we can, if you want. Talk about it, I mean.”

“Thanks.” You tell her before pulling her in for a proper kiss. She hums an _uh huh_ into your mouth and then pulls away only to settle with her head tucked against under your chin.

“It’ll be okay, Carm.” She says sleepily.

You press your face into her hair and she tightens her grip around your waist and you breathe her in and it definitely, one hundred percent, feels like it will be okay in the end.

//

You make Kirsch ask around to find out which dorm Will lives in. You had called and asked the University for the same information, but they had informed you that they do not release any personal information belonging to students unless it is to someone listed as an emergency contact. William, of course, has not listed you as an emergency contact.

But Kirsch pulls through and you’re thankful at first, but as soon as you step foot in what is clearly a floor of the dorms dominated by smelly freshmen boys, a part of you – the sane part – wishes you could have tracked William down through the phone instead.

His room is at the end of the hall and you don’t let yourself second guess before you rap your knuckles against the wood. He opens the door after one knock and then immediately tries to close it on you. You’re quick, though, and so you manage to brace your forearm against the door before he can get it completely shut.

“I’m stronger than you.” You remind him quietly. “I can probably push this door open and cause a scene if that’s what you really want.”

That’s not what he wants and you both know it.

When he finally steps back to allow you to come inside, you have to pause a moment in order to take in your surroundings. The room is neater than anything you could have imagined and there is an air freshener plugged into the wall socket.

“Mattie’s been here.”

Will shrugs noncommittally.

“Is she your emergency contact, too?” You ask, not bothering to kick your shoes off before hoisting yourself up on his bed. “Are you two best friends now?”

“You’re the one who told her I was here.” He says. “It’s not my fault she’s around.”

You’re not sure why he’s being less than welcoming until it clicks in your head. “You’re really mad at me, aren’t you?”

“I told you not to tell her.”

“And I told you I was going to unless you do it yourself.” You study him from where you’re sitting. “What is this even about? You running away and choosing Silas of all places to run away to? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, it makes no sense to me.”

He sits down in his computer chair and frowns. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Now that she knows, it’s only a matter of time before _she_ knows too.” He kicks at the ground and sighs. “I just wanted to get away from her for good.”

“Not many people can accomplish that.”

Will looks up.

“But you did. That’s why I came to you.”

You suddenly have never felt so stupid in your life.

“You never said anything – “

“Did I have to?” He stands and you discover he possesses the same ability to make someone physically feel as if they’re overstaying their welcome without saying a word much like you and Mattie do. “Whatever, I don’t want to talk anymore.”

You walk to the door and it’s too similar to the last time you saw one of your siblings.

“Will.” You say. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t respond and you’re about to shut the door behind you when he says your name.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t visit again.”

//

As if you didn’t have enough to worry about, your team takes a nosedive to the bottom of the standings by the time the middle of the month rolls around. Coach Hollis calls a team meeting and throws around words like _breakdown_ and _collapse_ and gives a speech on being committed both on the offensive and defensive side of the puck. You all know that isn’t the problem, the team’s been playing well all around, it’s just that other teams have been playing _better_. You think he should address that.

But truthfully, all you can really think about the whole time he’s preaching to the converted – your goalie is your _captain_ , for fuck’s sake, you’re all sure as hell going to be committed defensively – is how Laura still hasn’t told him anything about the two of you.

Of course, you’re sure she has her reasons for keeping quiet, but it still stings a little. Especially when you want to shout from the rooftops that she’s your girlfriend. That out of all the people she could have chosen to be with, she chose you. But then again, you know better now than to push Laura into something she isn’t ready for.

You’re happy to have what you’ve got, you tell yourself.

//

Laura doesn’t tell you that the two of you are going to be attending Perry’s birthday party until two days beforehand and then laughs when you grumble about it.

“I told you we were going to a party _weeks_ ago, you big baby.” She says, rolling over to face you. You are momentarily distracted by the way the morning sun hits her hair in just the right angle and makes her look like she’s glowing.

“I know. But you never said it was Ginger One’s birthday.”

“Why does it matter? Do you no longer want to go?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

You press forward and blow a raspberry against her exposed shoulder and you wait until she’s laughing before mumbling your response.

“Excuse me, what?” Laura asks, trying to catch her breath and squirm away from you at the same time. “Did you just say you’re upset I didn’t give you enough notice because you wanted to get Perry a present?”

“You heard me the first time.” You tell her.

“I did.” She agrees. “I just wanted to clarify that you actually want to make an effort for one of my friends’ birthdays.”

“I’ve made an effort for someone’s birthday before.”

“Yeah, but it was mine.” Laura says, a slow smile spreading over her face. “That’s different.”

You nod and let her win because yeah, it _is_ different.

“I bought her a present. We could just share. Couples do it all the time.”

“Laura, she doesn’t even know we’re dating.”

“Details.” Laura says waving her hand. “So did you already have something in mind or were you going to Google ‘ _cool baking supplies’_ to get ideas?”

She laughs when you don’t respond.

“You totally were going to Google it.”

“Shut up.”

She laughs again and you hide your face in her shirt until she pokes you into pulling away from her. When you do, you see that she still has a smile on her face and her phone in her hand.

The two of you spend the whole morning looking through Pinterest boards and baking enthusiasts’ forums until you stumble across the perfect present. It’s a customizable baking stamp and you fiddle with the options until it says _Perrymade_ instead of _Homemade_. You also pay for rapid shipping even if it costs more than the stamp itself.

You think Laura kissing you after you hit the order button is compensation enough for the extra cost.

//

The two of you arrive at Perry’s at five o’clock on the dot. Despite that, the place is already full of people when you walk through the door.

“Do you think she surrounds herself with people who aren’t punctual?” Laura asks you, rolling her eyes and taking your jacket before leaving your side for a moment and making her way over to the coat closet.

The party is made up mostly of other players on the soccer team and, you realize after a few minutes of looking around while Laura is deep in conversation about something soccer related, kids from high school that she, Perry, and LaFontaine used to hang around.

You know a few people and so you detach yourself from Laura and approach Perry with your wrapped gift, courtesy of your girlfriend because you cannot wrap a present to save your life, before going over and catching up with them. They start a game of beer pong and you gladly participate. Laura catches your eye from across the room and smiles your way every few minutes.

When it comes time for Perry to blow out the candles – you are shocked by the fact that she is a full two months younger than you – you once again take your place next to Laura. She presses a lovely smile into your shoulder and momentarily wraps an arm around your waist. Perry then opens birthday gifts and Laura causes the whole room to burst out into rambunctious laughter when she jokingly warns Perry not to open her gift in public – it’s a framed picture of them as kids as far as you know – before everyone once again scatters. You are about to join in on a game of Scrabble with people who are miles past drunk when you see one of Perry’s friends from school sitting far too close to Laura.

So, like the amazing secret girlfriend you are, you go over there and steal Laura away under the guise of needing help fixing your make-up. When the two of you finally push past the crowd and into the empty hallway, Laura takes a quick look around before leaning up to kiss you.

“Thanks.” She says. “She was all over me.”

“All over you is an understatement.” You say, your tone coming out sharper than intended. You blame it on the copious amount of socializing you’ve been subjected to.

She arches an eyebrow. “It’s not like I was encouraging it, Carmilla.”

“I didn’t say that.” You roll your eyes and kiss her forehead. “I’m just saying, how hard would it have been to say _I have a girlfriend_ and move on?”

“And what, have her accidentally let slip to Perry or LaFontaine that we’re together?”

Your fists clench and you don’t really want to do this here, but your mouth clearly has other ideas.

“Would it be so bad if they knew?”

“No, of course not.” Laura bites her lip. “I’m just not really ready for them to know, for anyone to know.”

“Because if you tell them, then suddenly it’s real and you’ve made a commitment?”

Laura takes a step back from you. “Where is this coming from?”

You can see the confusion and hurt in her eyes and you kind of want to stop whatever’s happening and just hold her, but you also know that you have to be honest about how you feel.

“No one knows about us, Laura.” You hate the insecurity in your voice, but after the past few weeks, you can’t stop it from leaking out anymore. “Nothing’s stopping you from calling this all off and throwing me aside.”

“Don’t be stupid.” She scoffs. “I’m not going to throw you away.”

“Then quit treating me like garbage.”

“I’ve been treating you like garbage?”

“You’ve been treating me like a dirty secret.” You clarify, already regretting starting this.

“Carm – ” Laura begins, but is interrupted by Perry peeking her head around the corner. You automatically take a step back from her and she does the same and you hate it.

“There you two are.” Perry eyes you and then Laura and then seems to come to a conclusion. “Were you leaving?”

Laura opens her mouth, but you beat her to it. “Laura’s staying. I have to get going. Practice tomorrow morning.”

Perry nods understandingly and then smiles.

“Thank you for the stamp.”

“No problem.” You open the coat closet beside you and reach your hand in for your jacket. “Well, happy birthday.”

Perry rolls her eyes and pulls you in for a hug. You pat her shoulder awkwardly before disentangling yourself and walking towards the door. You smile as widely as you can at Laura, hoping she understands that you’re only leaving in an attempt to stop yourself from saying more things that you’ll end up regretting.

It’s only when the door’s shut behind you and you’re on the sidewalk that you realize you broke the cardinal rule of loving Laura Hollis.

You walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want, you can find us at this swanky [ask blog](http://bsau-asks.tumblr.com/) or at our individual blogs [here](http://itmustbebunnies.tumblr.com) and [here](http://sedinbrothers.tumblr.com)


	20. December - Junior Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka Carmilla standing outside Laura’s door being a sap is going to fuck us all up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for the wait, please accept this very long (16k) apology. Have fun!

Walking away from Laura proves to be the hardest thing you've ever done in your life.

You think back to the pain that exploded through your body as your knee twisted to the side and your head cracked against the ice and it can't even compare to the sharp feeling of a thousand knives going through your heart as your feet take you further and further away from Perry’s house.

It's also the biggest display of self-control you've ever showed; how you manage to keep one foot after the other, going forward and forward and _forward_ , away from Laura and away from everything you've worked for in the past year.

And the biggest irony in all of that?

It just feels as if you're dragging yourself backwards, all the way to that starting line filled with all the longing and heartbreak you finally thought you'd left behind.

//

You call Mattie five times a day for three days before she actually picks up the phone.

It's unreasonable and you know this - logically, at least - but a part of you reasons that you're making up for the fact that you can't talk to Laura. Or, rather, you _can_ \- you just don't know _how._

And you need to figure it out before you go back to her otherwise you'll just keep hurting each other over and over again until you both can't take it anymore and one of you ends up walking away again.

And this time maybe for good.

You don't know much about what's going on in your life right now. The variables are too many and you have no idea where to begin to solve this equation, but you do know you only want one result out of this: you and Laura, _together._

It's complicated and messy right now, but in your mind the final sum is as simple as two and two put together. You just need to find a way to get there.

So you decide you might as well start with what is more complicated to break down to bits and pieces you can understand.

“Fifteen calls.” Mattie says, and you can't deny you're slightly shocked to hear her voice instead of her automated voicemail. “I hope you realize how desperate you're coming across right now.”

You roll your eyes. “I don't care.”

And honestly, out of all the things going on in your life right now, you _are_ desperate. You can't afford to keep pretending to be cool and unaffected because that's not likely to help your current situation.

“What do you want, Carmilla?” Mattie's tone is clipped and harsh, but you've been around her long enough to know it's only an attempt at intimidation.

It's not gonna work and Mattie knows this as well as you do, so you don't see why she even bothers in the first place.

“Have you told mother?”

She scoffs. “You're unbelievable.”

Again, _yeah_ , but you don't really care about that.

“Have you?”

It's a few moments before your sister let's out a heavy sigh. “I haven't.” She says. “The… opportunity hasn't presented itself yet.”

Is barely a moment of hesitation, but it means the world to you. Because Mattie isn't a person who second-guesses her actions. You're all about assessing the situations and trying to pick the best solutions to the problems you face, but you're not _confident._ Not in the way that your sister is.

She's all sure steps and steady words and you know that if she truly believed your mother should hear about this, she would've told her already. 

“Thank you,” you breathe out. And before she can say anything, you continue, “and I'm sorry.”

Mattie is quiet again. Then, “Are you actually apologizing right now?”

“Yes.” You nod, even though she can't see it. “I know I shouldn't have kept this from you, but she _can't_ know. You know what she'll do, that's why you haven't told her.”

“I haven't told her because Will asked me not to do that.”

But you know this isn't true. You know because you remember all the times growing up when Will would do something she believed to be wrong and ask Mattie not to tell Mother only to have her doing so by the time dinner rolled around.

“That's not true.” You tell her. “You kept this from her because he's doing the same thing we did and you can't fault him for that.”

“We had _means_ , Carmilla,” Mattie argues. “Will has nothing. He's always been her darling boy. How is he expected to survive out in this world without Maman to cater to his every wish?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can even think them through, “I'll help him.”

Mattie's laugh rings through the phone and you're slightly annoyed that she seems to have so little faith in you.

“You mean you'll give him his lunch money and allow him to sleep on your couch like you did last month? That's not _helping_ , darling sister. He ran away from Maman, how long til he runs away from you?”

And she's right, you know, because you did exactly the same thing years ago and if you hadn't been by yourself back then, you'd never have realized how to be the person you are now. But it's your _brother._ You had a trust fund with your name on it, a way to make ends meet even when you didn't even know what kind of cleaning supplies to get at the supermarket.

Will doesn't have that.

“What do I do?” You ask Mattie, and you're surprised how easily the plea for help slips past your lips.

“My, my,” Mattie tuts over the phone. “You really _have_ changed, haven't you?”

“Mattie.” You sigh. “Come on.”

The line goes quiet for a few moments and you're slightly afraid she'll have had enough of this conversation, but then you hear the rustling of something and Mattie comes back on the line.

“It's actually pretty simple, don't you think?” She says. And then, in the most matter-of-fact tone she can manage, “Don't just give him the results, Carmilla. Teach him how to solve the equations.”

Your next words taste bitter on your tongue, “I thought you said problems just don't go away because you've done that?”

“They don't,” in her defense, Mattie sounds contrite. “But it's a good way to start.”

//

The next day, you make your way to Will’s dorm.

(Your feet take you halfway to Laura’s house before you realize where you’re going and you force yourself to circle back.)

He doesn't answer after three knocks and you're about to give up when the lock clicks open and the door swings to reveal a bleary-eyed Will, the creases on his shirt enough indication that you probably woke him up from his afternoon nap.

 _Good,_ you think. And then you mentally smack yourself for being so petty.

“I thought I told you not to visit me again.” He says, and you can't help but think that his words would have a lot more bite if he wasn't too busy yawning around them.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “Tough luck.”

You push past him and one look around the room lets you know that Mattie _definitely_ hasn't visited again, which further confirms your theory that Will asking isn't the reason why she hasn't said anything about your brother’s whereabouts to Mother.

“How are you doing?” You ask, leaning against the small edge of his work desk that isn't covered by trash and dirty clothes. “Judging by the looks of this place -” you kick an empty carton of food away from your feet. “Not well, I'd say.”

Your brother glares at you, “I don't need help.”

“Don't be stupid,” you roll your eyes. “Of course you do.”

“Not from _you._ ”

It stings, you can't even pretend it doesn't. Despite being a royal pain in the ass, Will is your brother. Your _little_ brother. And you can't shake off the part of you that cares and wants to help him any more than you can shake off the part of you that loves Laura Hollis.

(You wonder when she became as important to you as the family you've know for most of your life, but you're not surprised that she has.)

“ _Look,_ ” you push yourself from the desk and take a step closer to him. “Stop being difficult for the sake of it.”

You watch as he presses his lips together and takes his own step towards you and you can't help but marvel on how much he's _grown._

And how you weren't around to see it.

“That's not what I'm doing,” he says. “I can't handle myself just fine without you and Mattie meddling in my business.”

“Will -”

“ _No,_ ” he interrupts you. His tone is clipped, but he doesn't raise his voice. “I don't need your help.”

It's then that it dawns on you - he might have a good few inches on you and his voice might be deeper and his biceps might be defined now, but he's still _a kid._ There's still so much he needs to learn, so much that you yourself hadn't even realized was a lesson you needed to have until life was all but smacking it against your face.

So much that you weren't able to figure out by yourself.

“You can't do this alone.” You tell him.

“Yes, I _can._ ”

A sad smile spreads on your lips when you think of all of the things that he hasn’t realized quite yet.

You walk around him and towards the door. Once you twist the doorknob, you turn to him again, “I'll be back. And you better have cleaned up this fucking mess by the time I do.”

//

You've known for a while now that you can't stay away from Laura.

She's such a big part of your life that every morning, when you wake up, your hands immediately move to pull her closer to you and it's never not a disappointment when all they grasp is the air from the empty space next to you.

You could deal with that when you knew that she would be knocking on your door with a batch of cookies under her arm, but the notion that this isn't gonna happen just makes it hard for you to even muster the willpower to get out of bed.

It's fucked up. And that's not even counting all the moments you reach for your phone with the intent of texting her only to realize that you don't know exactly what to say.

You don't know how to fix this.

Actually, there's no way you _can_ fix this. Because yeah, you walked away and you've been hating yourself ever since you left Perry’s house, but the matter remains that Laura _has_ been treating you like a dirty little secret and much as you love her - and _God_ , you can't even deny that you do anymore - you just can't be in a relationship like that.

But the idea of not being her girlfriend - you can't even bring yourself to _think_ about it.

You pick up your phone and you press call before you can go down your particular rabbit hole of pain and self-loathing.

“Can you come over?” You say once the call goes through.

“Uh - are you actually inviting me over? I don't think you've ever done that.”

“Kirsch.” You sigh, rubbing the tips of your fingers against your nose. “Just get here, okay? And bring me some kind of food.”

“Okay, yeah, sure.” You hear him moving on the other side of the line and then, “Danny's coming along, is that cool?”

You look at the calendar Laura hung on your kitchen and you realize it's Friday. Of course he's with his girlfriend. And you just demanded he come over to your place as if he doesn't have a life and plans of his own.

“Actually, never mind. I'll go out and get something myself.”

“Carmilla.” Kirsch's voice is serious and you can count in your hands the times he's used that tone with you, so you shut up immediately. “Where's Laura?”

The question hits you like a thousand bricks, because you _don't know._ And she's your girlfriend, so you feel like you should. If you'd have to hazard a guess you'd say she's probably home, watching an old soccer match and the way you can picture it so clearly in your head makes you hate yourself even more for everything that's going on.

“I don't know.” Is what you tell Kirsch, because you can't even begin to explain to him what's going on with you and Laura.

“We'll be right there.” He assures you and you don't bother trying to fight him because you know it won't work.

And honestly, you don't think you can spend another night by yourself without going insane. Kirsch and Danny are more than you could hope for right now and you don't think you'll ever let them know how thankful you are for their willingness to push aside their time together just to distract you, but you _are._ So much.

You hope not being an asshole for once will do the trick.

//

Danny and Kirsch are a good distraction, but there’s only so much they can do for you. They’ve got their own lives - practices to attend, dates to go on, finals to take - and after their second night around you start to feel guilty because you’re being selfish.

And also because you’re just fooling yourself.

You love the two idiots, you _do_ , but they’re not Laura. And what you want, right now, is her.

(What you want _all the time,_ actually, but details.)

You’ve tried to stay away, not only for your sake, but also hers. There’s still too much you two need to sort out and you can’t ask that she fully commits to you when you’re not in a position to do the same yet, but _God,_ you just miss her so much. You miss just looking at her. Just having her sitting on the couch next to you, her fingers absentmindedly moving against your skin as she focus on whatever match she’s put on for you to watch that day.

Sure, you also miss kissing her. And touching her. Learning over and over again how she feels when your fingers are splayed against her skin and your mouth is figuring out new roads and paths to a destination you’ve grown very familiar with in the last few months.

You miss her so fucking much it’s kind of ridiculous.

And when it comes down to it, well, it’s simple, really - you don’t wanna do that anymore.

//

You’re walking into Starbucks before you can even second-guess yourself.

There isn’t really a line, thankfully, and soon enough you’re facing the same barista who has taken your order the majority of the time you’ve been around with Laura.

Her name tag reads _Rupinder,_ and you recall how quick you were to memorize that when she first took your order because she was far less annoying than the other boys you had to deal with sometimes. Well, actually, she was never annoying at all. And you had fun wondering whether or not she realized there was a pattern to the fake names you gave her, rather than just the random ones you threw to the other baristas.

“Carmilla.” She greets you as soon as you stop in front of her, an amused smile playing on her lips and you’re once again mesmerized by how your name sounds when combined with her heavy accent. “The usual?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Just a cookie this time. To go, please.”

She looks behind you in the direction of the table you usually sit with Laura and something seems to click in her head because she only nods to herself and registers your order.

When you take the money to pay for it, she just waves you off.

“It’s on me.”

You glance at her and she’s giving you a look that you’re sure it’s supposed to mean something, but you don’t know _what_ exactly.

“Thanks.” you say, your shoulders moving up and down in a small shrug.

“You’re welcome.” Rupinder smiles at you. “I hope to see you and Laura again soon.”

When you take the small package with the cookie inside, you can’t help to think that yeah, _you do too._

//

The walk to Laura’s house isn’t a long one, but you manage to eat half of the cookie before you’ve even made to the second intersection that roughly marks half of the way there.

You broke it in the middle and you divided it in six parts and you hadn’t even realized what you were doing until you were shoving the last bit of it into your mouth as you tried to come up with answers to the potential questions she might have.

Only to realize that you couldn’t. Because you don’t have them yet. And you hate yourself for that.

What is the use of being so good at math when you can’t even figure out the basic things in your life?

You put the other half of the cookie away to make sure that you won’t eat it all before you get to Laura’s house - out of sight and out of mind, you reason ignoring the fact that that hasn’t particularly worked too well in the past week - and you decide that you’ll deal with things the best you can once you see your girlfriend.

Right now, that’s all you want.

It seems that the universe is on your side for a change because, once you’re getting ready to cross the street, another figure steps on the opposite curb and it’s like your brain is so attuned to everything _Laura_ that it takes you barely a second to realize it’s her.

You look at her and you feel your breath getting caught in your throat. It’s been almost a week and you’ve spent most of it going through your phone’s gallery, staring at pictures of her, but you realize now that they didn’t do her any justice at all.

Because _God,_ she’s gorgeous.

(You wouldn’t mind sounding like a broken record your entire life if it meant you could tell her that over and over again.)

Her brows are scrunched up and she isn’t looking at you, which you’re momentarily glad because it means that you can stare at her a little bit longer without having to explain yourself.

It’s only when she’s half way down the street that she seems to notice you’re standing on the other side and she takes barely another step before she’s all but running, flinging herself in your arms and molding so perfectly against you in that amazing way that only her body seems capable of doing.

You thought you missed her, but it’s only when the smell of her perfume hits your nostrils that you realize _how much._

“I - hi.” She says, once she’s pulled back from you. “I was just coming to see you - are you - were you on your way somewhere?”

There’s a million answers you could give her, a million ways this conversation could go, but the truth is - you _can’t_ have a conversation with Laura right now. You wouldn’t know what to say, wouldn’t know how to explain certain things. It probably would end up in an even bigger mess and that’s the last thing either of you need right now.

But still, you promised yourself you’d always be honest with her so you pull the Starbucks package out of your pocket and you hand it to her.

“I was coming to see _you_. And I thought I’d buy you something. Because we didn’t leave things right.” You explain, your brows furrowing as you try to keep this conversation on safe ground. Laura takes the cookie from you and you look down as you feel your cheeks growing hot, “It was a whole cookie. But I stress ate half. Sorry.”

She laughs and just like that you find yourself lost in her all over again. She’s always beautiful, you know, but the way her eyes glint and the dimples in her cheek grown more evident as she leans closer to you just seem to add to that in a way that makes impossible for you to even breathe right.

_This girl._

“That’s okay. Thank you. Wanna share this with me?”

You think you shouldn’t, because technically you already ate half of her cookie, but the idea of sharing _anything_ with Laura is not one that you can deny, so you only nod your head and you dutifully take a quarter of it when she hands it to you.

Then, she’s reaching for your hand and pulling you with her and you don’t even question where she’s taking you.

You’re not sure of a lot of things in your life right now, but you _do_ know this: you’d follow Laura Hollis anywhere.

// 

As it turns out, Laura’s intended destination is your apartment, which - in hindsight - should’ve been obvious to you. 

It could be simple. In a perfect world, you’d take her inside and there would be kissing - and maybe something more - as you both decided to forget last week’s events and pick up where you left off.

You know you _could_. You’ve done it before.

And maybe that’s the reason why you can’t allow it to happen again. Because pretending something didn’t happen doesn’t make it okay. It doesn’t make it right and it certainly doesn’t make the issues disappear. It’s just adding to a growing pile of frustrations that eventually - as proved by what happened at Perry’s party - will blow up on your face.

You can’t let that happen again.

So you take a deep breath and you pull Laura back once she gets to the door of your building.

“I don’t think you should come in.”

“What?” She sounds confused and you can’t really say you blame her. “But we have to talk.”

And that’s the thing. You _know_ that. But you can’t even gather your thoughts enough to make sense of them, what with Laura not wanting to tell people that you’re together and your siblings - two of the people you care for the most in your life - turning their backs on you when all you’ve done is trying to help them. You just wouldn’t even know how to start this conversation.

It pains you to do so, but you let go of Laura’s hand and you straighten your back, trying to brace yourself for what it’s coming once she realizes that you have no intention of talking about what’s happening. Not right now, at least.

You see it as clear as day when the realization dawns on your girlfriend’s face. “Why would you come to see me if you didn’t want to talk?”

“I just wanted to _see_ you. I haven’t gone this long without seeing you or talking to you since - “ you cut yourself off before the words are out of your mouth but it only takes one glance at Laura to let you know that she’s well aware of what you almost said.

Only another thing to remain unspoken between you two, you suppose.

“Carm -” Laura tries, but you can’t let her finish. You can’t do this. It’s too much for you right now, you feel like that one time you tried to solve one of the Millennium Prize Problems and got nothing but frustration out of it.

Laura Hollis might as well be your personal Millennium Prize Problem.

“No, I -” You try to run a hand through your hair but it gets caught on your toque and that’s just adding to your frustration, so you quickly remove that. When you see the name _Hollis_ stitched onto it, you wanna laugh at how much the universe likes to play with you.

You hand it to Laura and you decide you couldn’t screw this up anymore if you tried. “I have -” you try to explain. “There are things going on right now and I need to fix them, but after. We can talk after.”

Somewhere deep inside yourself, you can acknowledge that this isn’t what you want to say. You want to pull her close to you and whisper reassurances in her ears, tell her that you’ll wait as long as it takes because you know that one day it _will_ pay off, but you just can’t. Because, with everything that’s going on in your life right now, you feel as if you’re drowning and the one person you thought would be there to save you isn’t willing to do that.

And it’s not a bad thing, not really. You need to be able to handle your own problems without adding to everything that Laura has going on in your life already.

So maybe when you can do that, you’ll be able to wait for her if that’s what she needs you to do, just like you waited for her when she was trying to figure out her feelings towards you.

But right now, you need to be able to swim out of the water and you need to do this by _yourself._

“So, after.” You breathe out once you’ve managed to clear your thoughts a bit. “If you can wait.”

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready?” She asks, and you hate that she even _has_ to, but you nod anyway.

“I’ll text you.”

//

Your phone rings the next day while you’re trying to buy some Christmas decorations and you’re slightly surprised to see Mattie’s name on the screen once you manage to move all the shopping bags you have to one hand so that you can use the other to pull your phone from your pocket.

You’re swiping your thumb across the screen before you can even fully register that _Mattie_ is calling _you._ “Hello?”

“What are your plans for Christmas?” She asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Uh -” you bite your lip, wondering if you actually _have_ any. With everything that’s going on between you and Laura, that’s not likely.

“Speak up, Carmilla. Mother taught you better than that.”

You can’t help the way your eyes almost roll to the back of your head - you’ve been making a point to steadfastly _unlearn_ everything your foster mother taught you and you know Mattie is aware of that.

Her phone call might be an olive branch, but that single sentence is enough to let you know that things aren’t quite okay between the two of you yet.

“I don’t have any.”

“Good!” Mattie exclaims. “You’re joining William and I for dinner at my house. Please be a darling and pick a nice bottle of wine for us, will you?”

That sounds like a trap if you've ever heard of one.

“What about Maman?”

“Spending the holidays in Europe, so you don’t have to worry. It’ll only be the three of us, you have my word.”

It’s not much of a reassurance at this point, but you’ll take what you can get.

“I’ll be there.”

Mattie doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course you will. Bye, darling.”

She hangs up before you can even say your goodbyes and you let out a frustrated sigh as you look down at the bags you’re holding. There are so many your fingers are growing purple under the handles and you can’t help the thought that Laura would probably be a thousand times better at this than you are.

At the very least, she would be able to pick a goddamn christmas light without ending up with a million different boxes.

 _Whatever,_ you think.

Maybe the mess this will make in your apartment will be a good example of the mess you are without her.

//

The little pride you have left inside of you lasts until mid-afternoon and about a hundred open boxes of decorations that you have absolutely _no idea_ what to do with.

And then you’re texting Laura because she’s _your girlfriend_ and you don’t want to do this alone, even if things are shitty between the two of you right now.

She calls you like three hot seconds after you hit send and your phone almost drops to the ground with how shocked you are, which you reason is also why you ask her if she's already downstairs when it couldn't have been humanly possible for her to make her way over that fast.

Whatever.

“You really want me to help you decorate your tree?” She breathes out, and you feel your heart clenching in your chest at the desperation in her voice because you're sure if the roles were reversed you'd sounding the same.

Hell, you probably are anyway.

This is a mess.

“Yes.” You drag out the word, trying once again to gather your thoughts so that you won't do any more damage. It occurs to you that you've never quite had a hard time talking to Laura as you do now and it just adds to your growing supply of self-loathing. “We might be fighting, but that doesn't mean I don't - it doesn't mean I don't want my girlfriend to help me decorate for Christmas.”

Laura is quiet for a moment and then, “I'll be there soon.”

When she ends the call, you finally allow yourself to breathe normally again.

//

When the door to your apartment opens and then closes right before a lock is turned, you don't even have to turn around to know it's Laura.

And it isn't even because you're waiting for her and that would be the obvious assumption. It's because of the way your body just grows suddenly warm and something seems to come alive in the pit of your stomach, despite the fact that you haven't even turned to _look_ at her.

You grip your mug - the one she gave you last Christmas and _God,_ has it been a year already? - tighter in your hand and you delay the inevitable a little longer because you don't think you're gonna be able to be so close to her without trying to touch her in some way.

Which you can't do. You think. Because _time._

“It's tiny.” You say, and then of course you make the mistake of shifting your gaze from your sorry excuse for a Christmas tree to Laura - who's working on removing all sorts of layers she had to put on to endure the cold.

You wouldn't think it to be possible, but she seems to grow more and more beautiful every time you lay your eyes on her.

Her nose curls up in that way it always seems to do when she's amused with something you've done, “It is adorable.” And then she's walking towards you and you're too panicked to try and move to the other side and by the time her lips are touching your cheek you're just glad you haven't become a puddle of goo on the floor. “ _And_ you have a lot of different colour scheme options.”

It's just the kind of remark she would make and the familiarity of it all is enough to put you at ease. Your cheeks grow red at her teasing and you have to fight the urge to touch her a lot of times while she's helping you hang all the goddamn decorations you got - and you thought there were many but honestly you had _no idea_ \- and when you're finally done it feels as if you ran a marathon.

You make a snarky remark about your tree being ugly - which _it is,_ she can't even deny it - and you're hit with the heavy realization that you probably just fell in love with her all over again.

Probably harder this time too.

“I know we haven't talked, but I really wanted to do this with you.” You bite your lip because you're not sure whether saying this helps or just makes things worse, but you can't even help it at this point. “I'm glad you're here.”

When Laura kisses you, you allow yourself to think that - no matter what - it'll be you and her in the end.

//

“Open the door, William, I'm not fucking around.”

You pound against the door one more time and after what feels like hours of you standing there looking stupid, it finally swings open in front of you.

Will looks like he's been sleeping once again and you have half a mind to give him a good smack because _what an idiot._

“Change. We're going out.”

He crosses his arms, pulls himself to his full height and tries to glare at you. “I'm not going anywhere.”

It's not a very effective move when you've grown up with it.

“Yeah, you are,” you wave him off. “Come on, I don't have all day.”

He tries to stare you down one more time and finally seems to give up before shutting the door on your face again. You hear stuff being moved around inside the room and you have half a mind to try and knock down his door again, but after seven or so minutes, the door opens again and he steps out of his room.

“Where are we going?” He grunts out.

“Christmas shopping, little brother.” You give him your best cheeky smile, which you know will only annoy him further. “And then we're getting you a job.”

//

As it turns out, that's probably the stupidest idea you could ever have had in your life.

Will bitches and moans the entire time and you're about done with everything when he claims that working as a salesman is beneath him.

“Look,” you turn around, poking your index finger against his shoulder. “Being _unemployed_ is beneath you, okay? You need to get your shit together.”

“I can find something better.”

“Yeah?” You roll your eyes. What a fucking idiot. “Like _what?_ Newsflash, William. You're a college freshman with no previous experience whatsoever because you were too busy being momma’s boy to even bother on getting a summer job. _Better_ is not an option for you right now.”

He takes a step towards you and you're suddenly thrown back by the sheer amount of anger in his gaze.

“You think I _wanted_ that?” He seethes and you're not sure if that's better or worse than to have him yelling right now. “You think she _let_ me? You walked out, Carmilla. And Mattie was all too happy doing her bidding until she could do the same. _I_ was the one who had to deal with the consequences of what you two did. So if I don't have any options right now, well guess what, _sis?_ That's on you.”

It's not the kind of thing you want to hear, but you can't pretend that you don't know it's true. You can't pretend that you didn't turn your back on him when you knew he needed you just because you couldn't be under mother’s thumb anymore.

You had plans of doing more. Helping him once you got your footing, once you had sorted things out for yourself. But before you could even think about it she was shutting him out and sending him away and you just didn't have the resources to help him.

And you _hate_ yourself for that.

It's not a wonder he does too.

“Look.” You let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I'm _trying_ now, okay?”

He scowls at you. “Yeah.” He nods. “Too little, too late.”

And then he's walking away and leaving you in the middle of the shopping mall by yourself and you feel like you just want to crumble into a ball and forget this whole thing ever happened.

More than anything, though, you want _Laura._

You want for something - _anything_ \- to make sense in your life, even if just for a second.

(Even if it's all gonna come crumbling down again later.)

//

You text her as you're pulling out of the parking lot because you clearly have no self-control.

It's an innocent enough message about how you bought her present - which you did, once you managed to push Will’s words out of your mind for a second - but once you get home and your gaze falls on the Christmas tree you two decorated together, it's as if something reaches into your chest and squeezes the life out of your heart.

Before Laura, you didn't realize that you could actually _feel_ the pain of missing someone.

So you throw caution to the wind and you text her again and you try to tell yourself that the pain hasn't gotten any worse when ten minutes go by and you don't get a reply, but the way you're lying on your couch clutching one of her jerseys in your hand and your phone in the other might be a testament to the opposite of that.

You're so focused in wallowing in your self pity, in fact, that it takes you a moment to realize the faraway noise you're hearing is the sound of someone buzzing on your intercom.

“Hi.” You call out once you manage to push yourself from the couch, still wondering why you just didn't ignore whoever is trying to bother you.

“Carm.” Laura’s voice comes through and it's as if you feel your heart suddenly trying to crawl out of your chest.

You take a deep breath to try and calm it. “Laura, I'm not in the mood to argue.”

And you really aren't. After your day with William you don't have any fight left in you. Hell, with everything that's been going on you don't think you had any to _begin with._

“No arguing. I brought _Miracle on 34th Street_ and microwave popcorn and cocoa packets.”

You're so in love with his girl it's ridiculous.

Even when she has no idea what's going on with you and the shitty day you've had, she still manages to be exactly what you need her to be.

“Cocoa packets?” You ask, trying to stick on safe ground when all that you want to tell her is _I'm sorry_ and _I can't do this by myself_ and maybe even _God, I love you_ , which just adds to yet another pile of things you need to figure out in your life.

“Before you even ask, yes, the ones with marshmallows shaped like snowmen.”

You might, you think. Love her. Hell, you're 98 and ¾ percent sure you do.

But still, you can't think of that right now. “No talking?”

“No talking.” She promises.

You unlock the door before you can even think twice about it.

“I'll put the kettle on.”

//

Laura starts coming over and bringing movies to watch with you and you can't say that you mind at all.

Often times - when she's pressed against you in all the right ways and your hand is playing with her hair or the hem of her one of her jerseys - you find yourself wanting to spill everything that's going on to her.

You want to tell her about Mattie and William and how things are such a mess that you can't seem to think of a way to fix them without losing your siblings for good and that you want to be with her more than anything but that you don't think you can do it if she isn't willing to meet you in the middle, isn't willing to bend a little just enough so that you won't have to break yourself trying to reach her.

Day after day, movie after movie, you struggle with a way to tell her all of that.

In the end, you just don't. Because Laura already has issues enough of her own and she doesn't need to be burdened with your problems as well.

And that's something you can keep to yourself for now.

What you _can’t_ seem to be able to control, however, is how much your body wants hers. You try your best to keep your hands to yourself, try your best to ignore the warmth that spreads through you whenever Laura is lying with her body so close to yours, but once she picks _The Polar Express_ for you to watch one day, you just can't stop yourself anymore.

You kiss her and then you're on top of her and - honestly, you've never liked that movie very much to begin with.

“You'll tell me if you want to stop?” You ask as you pull back to turn that godforsaken movie off, because the last thing you need are little kids on a train in the background as you engage in less than innocent activities with your girlfriend.

“Yes.” Laura nods, and that's all you need to start removing her clothes and settling between her legs.

You don't know how to talk to her, but maybe you can reach out in other ways.

//

Mattie texts you about dinner when you're on your way to Laura’s house and you can't help the urge to roll your eyes at her need to treat you like a child at all times. It's not like you need to be reminded - you said you'd be there, so you _will_ \- but your sister still doesn't seem to be able to take your word for things and you can't deny that this hurts a little.

You thought things were headed towards a good place and then - then everything suddenly blew up on your face.

//

Laura seems shocked to find you at her door and you try not to add that to the pile of disappointments you've grown lately.

“For your dad.” You say instead, showing her the wine you have in one hand before you jiggle the small rectangular box you have in your hand, the one you tried - and failed, badly - to wrap before you made your way over. “And for you.”

“I’ll have to go get your present.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Can I come in?”

And you don't mean anything by that other than the fact you'd rather not be standing outside in the freezing cold for however many minutes while Laura goes retrieve your gift, but the way she says _Yeah, uh, Dad's not home_ just breaks something inside you all over again.

Still, it's Christmas Eve and the last thing you need is to pick yet another fight with your girlfriend, so you keep quiet and you walk in after her once Laura opens the door wide enough to for you to come inside.

She disappears somewhere - her room, you think, once you hear her footsteps up the stairs - but you remain rooted to your place because you don't know whether it's okay or not for you to be wandering around Laura’s house.

You've only been here once and back then the only thing you wanted to go was get as far away as soon as possible, so you hadn't really had a chance to take in anything.

It doesn't seem like you'll have a chance now either.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Laura says once she comes back downstairs and you want to laugh at the idea that you ever _could._ Everything in this house feels foreign to you, and you can't help the bitter thought that this includes Laura too.

This is her home, and you've only now realized that while you welcome her into yours with open arms and doors wide open, she hasn't done the same to you.

You decide you might as well try, though, because walking out is not a solution right now. And maybe in the future you'll come to know Laura's house as well as she knows yours.

It might be stupid to hope, but you've been doing that for so long now that it might as well be all you have left anymore.

Once you've taken a sit on her couch, Laura hands you a present you soon realize came from her father. “I hope he knowshe didn't have to.” You say, trying your best to open it without tearing the wrapping you're sure she's responsible for. When you finally see the knee pad staring back at you, you can't help the small laugh that leaves your lips. “I'm definitely wearing this next time I get sore.”

If you're honest, you'll probably be wearing it all the time. You try to think of something else to say but the words get stuck in your throat at the idea that Laura’s dad - _Coach Hollis -_ actually put that much thought in a present to you, especially after everything that's happened in the last few months and how rocky your relationship became with him over his shitty actions towards his daughter.

You can't believe how far you've all came.

Laura's present is next and you open the small envelope as slowly as you possibly can because you're not sure you'll be able to handle whatever it is inside it.

When you do, though, you have to turn your face to hide the ridiculous smile that takes over your face.

“Fifty dollars to Starbucks.”

“You've spent the last year paying for it. I figured I could get the next few.”

It's a ludicrous idea because this probably won't even last a month - and you make sure to tell Laura that, in the most serious tone you can manage - but at the bottom of it all is the fact that Laura thought of the _future_ when she bought this and you feel as if all of your worries are disappearing with the knowledge that she wants that too.

When Laura opens your present and stares at it in wonder instead of sending you running out the door, it makes you think that you two will be okay after all.

//

When the time comes to go to Mattie’s house you have to practically drag yourself to your car.

You've spent the better part of your month trying to fix things with your siblings and you just don't think you have it in you anymore to make any effort when they aren't willing to be held accountable for their actions either.

It seems that no matter who you turn to no one is ready to meet you halfway and you're just _so tired._

You love Mattie and you love Will and you're so close to admitting that you love Laura but you can't help but wonder when this won't be enough anymore.

(And it's a bitter thought, but you think it might be sooner than you thought.)

When you finally manage to get to her house it looks as if Christmas threw up _everywhere_ and you can't help but roll your eyes and how unlike your sister this all is.

But maybe not really, when you come to think about it. Christmas? Yeah, not really Mattie's thing. But appearances? Maman taught you all well enough on how to keep those.

“Well, finally, darling.” Your sister greets you once you've managed to gather enough courage to ring the doorbell. “I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up.”

You all but shove the bottle of wine in her hands. “I told you I'd be here, didn't I?”

She nods and walks inside, “You did. William wanted to bet that you wouldn't, though.”

You follow after her once you're finished hanging your jacket and your scarf and you roll your eyes as you find your brother leaning against the threshold that leads into the living room, a smirk on his lips.

The asshole.

“Well, I suppose it would just be adding to the piles of debt he has to pay with all the money he _doesn't_ have, right?”

Mattie laughs at that and you can't deny that there's some satisfaction in the way Will’s face twists into a look of displeasure once he realizes how true your words are.

You don't want to be making things any worse than they already are, but you're done being a pushover when they can't even realize how much effort you're putting in trying to mend your relationship with them.

Will pushes himself off the walls and takes a step towards you, “Where's your girlfriend, Kitty?”

“Shut up.” You growl, despite the fact that you promised yourself before you came here that you wouldn't rise to his provocations.

He doesn't know about Laura, not really, but he's not _stupid._ He spent over a month in your apartment and you know he realized how you always sent him away whenever Laura was on her way over.

He might not be a math genius like you, but that particular equation doesn't take much effort to solve.

“Did I hear that correctly?” Mattie calls out, walking out of the kitchen with two glasses of wine in hand.”Is he talking about _Laura?_ ”

You can't tell them that he is and you can't tell them that he isn’t _,_ so you figure glaring your way out of this is your best option, no matter how ineffective it might be with two people who grew up with the same foster mother as you.

“Why are we talking about this and not the fact that William doesn't seem to be even a little bothered by the fact he doesn't even have a place to live?” You ask instead, hoping that the deflection will work.

“I already told you I don't need your help.” Will huffs.

Mattie, surprisingly enough, takes on your side on this one. “She's right, though. You do need to let us help you.”

Your brother doesn't seem convinced. “Why can't you let me do this on my own?”

You want to scoff at this. The idea that the kid who's been doing nothing but sleep for the past month can do _anything_ by himself is hilarious if you ever heard of one.

“Let's sit,” Mattie says, gesturing towards the dining room where you see a ridiculous amount of food already on the table. You think maybe she's seen how you're ready to jump at your brother’s throat and she knows that the sight of food will distract you, at least for a moment. “And then we'll talk about this like the civilized _adults_ that we all are.”

//

It turns out that you’re not as civilized as Mattie seemed to assume you were, and by the time you’re driving back to your place you feel as if your head is going to explode with the migraine you’ve developed in the last couple of hours.

You’ve always known you’re stubborn, but you hadn’t realized how alike you and your siblings seemed to be in that particular aspect. Not until the three of you were all but yelling at each other over helpings of roasted turkey and Christmas pudding.

In the end, though, you and Mattie had managed to worn out your brother’s will - or stupidity, in your opinion - enough for him to agree that without at least a job and his student loans figured out, there was no way he could even try to survive by himself.

You think mentioning Maman and telling her where he’s been all this time might have been a low blow, but whatever.

At least now you know what _x_ is.

(You try not to think of how you still need to find _y_ and _z_ before you can even hope to solve this equation.)

//

It’s a couple days after Christmas when you find yourself parked outside Laura’s house again.

You and Will are supposed to be giving another try at finding him a job tomorrow and you’re already _exhausted_ at the mere thought of yet another afternoon of him being difficult on you, but you try to think of this as _progress,_ instead of something else.

He might be a lot to handle but he’s your brother, and you’ll know that once everything is said and done, he’ll stop putting his pride first and he’ll thank you for being there for him, even when he thought he didn’t need you.

(But you can’t deny that this whole thing has taken its toll on you.)

The lights in Laura’s house are on and you have a feeling Coach is home, so you pull out your phone and you call her instead of walking to the front door like you’d usually do.

She picks up on the second ring and the words _I'm outside_ sound more clipped than you intend them to, but you just can't handle your frustration with things anymore.

You've been doing that for almost the whole month and you thought things were getting better but then you're reminded yet again of the fact that Laura wants to _hide_ you and it all just comes flooding back before you can even realize what's going on.

“You could have just knocked.”

Yeah, right.

“You don't seem to like me coming around when Coach is home.”

“Carmilla -” Laura starts, but you interrupt her before she can even try to explain herself again.

You're just _so tired._

“Don't even bother.”

Her laugh sounds through the receiver and it's the emptiest you've ever heard her sound in a long time. “Don't even bother? When you're saying things like that and I can't even explain myself because you don't want to talk about it? Don't even _bother?_ That's rich, Carmilla.”

You hate yourself for doing that to her, but not anymore than you hate her for what she's doing to the two of you.

(Except that this is a lie, because you don't hate her _at all._ )

“Unless your explanation includes saying you've told him, I'm not interested.”

And you're not, because every time you get into this argument it feels as if you're going around in circles.

You feel dizzy and you need to stay on solid ground for once.

It doesn't seem like Laura is willing to let that happen though.

“So what I have to say doesn't even matter unless it's what you want to hear?” 

You sigh. Heavily. “I didn't say that.” 

And you didn't, but you're not surprised the two of you aren't on the same page anymore. If you're being honest, you feel like you haven't been for a while now.

“You might as well have.”

“Look.” You sigh again, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose. You didn't come here to fight with her. “The team volunteers at the soup kitchen every year around Christmas, do you want to go?”

Laura is quiet for a moment and you have to pull your phone back to check that she hasn't hung up on you.

When she speaks again, her words come out slowly, as if she's talking to a child.

“Carmilla, were in the middle of an argument right now.”

 _Yeah,_ she really doesn't need to be telling you that.

“Well, yeah, I know. But do you?”

“Do I what?”

It's stupid, you think, how much you can be so frustrated with her yet at the same time still crave her presence next you at all times. Back in September things hadn't been so hard because you just weren't seeing her _at all_. That she can be _your girlfriend_ while still feeling like less than an acquaintance breaks your heart a thousand different ways at least once an hour, day after day.

“Wanna go? We can go skating after. The lake at the park has frozen and we all go there when we're done. Maybe you'll be better with your skates on this time around.” You clear your throat, trying to decide whether or not you should say what you want to say next. What the hell, right? You're already screwed one way or another. “I would like it if you came with me.”

You think of everything that's happened in the last month and how far away from you she feels right now, and you decide that maybe you can bend a little more. Maybe you won't break just quite yet if you do.

“And then after, maybe we can have that talk.”

It's a heavy promise to make, but you realize as soon as the words are out of your mouth that it's one you fully intend to keep.

“I'll be out in a few minutes.” She finally agrees. “Sit tight.”

You look towards her house and you see the light of her room turn on and just the _idea_ that Laura is standing there - so close to you and yet so far - has your heart going crazy in your chest again.

“I'm not going to leave you behind.”

You wonder if she realizes this is your way of promising you won't walk out on her again.

//

Laura is a success with both the volunteers and the homeless at the soup kitchen and you can't say that you're surprised.

You might have been privy to a lot of different sides of Laura Hollis, but you could never deny how _charming_ the girl is.

She's standing next to you smiling and engaging into conversation with the people that stop in front of her and you didn't think it was possible for you to be any more of an idiot for this girl, but every time the thought crosses your mind it just seems as if Laura takes it as a personal challenge to prove the exact opposite.

And then you're left trying to keep your heart inside your chest once again as it tries to rip you open and all but jump into her hands.

You hate that even when you're fighting she still has such a hold on you.

//

Once you're done at the soup kitchen you make your way to the park with Laura.

Your teammates, along with the boy’s hockey team, are already there, and you're amused - though not surprised - to find Danny and Kirsch all but running headfirst into a tree as they cross from one side to the other of the frozen lake, most likely trying to prove who's faster with skates on.

(You know Danny can run a mean five-kilometer on foot, but it seems that Kirsch has an easier time doing that on the ice.)

“Are they always like this?” Laura asks once you've managed to strap your skates on.

You glance behind your shoulder and you can't help but chuckle to yourself as you nod to her. “Yeah, they're crazy competitive over things. Always have been, actually.” You scrunch up your nose. “It's like some weird kind of foreplay.”

Laura matches your expression at the idea and you lean down to check that the straps on her skate are fixed tight before you offer a hand for her to get up.

“Ready, Hollis?”

She nods and you try not to think too much when she lets go of your hand to try and skate by herself. She's a whole lot better than she was back in the summer, and you can't help but being a little proud of her. And also a little smug, because you know that she's only given a shot to this because she knows how much it means to you.

“Hey, Hollis! Karnstein!” Kirsch calls out, waving his hand as you skate small circles around your girlfriend. “You two planning on making your way over here anytime soon?”

Laura huffs and flips him off, which makes you and Danny immediately explode in a fit of laugh.

You look at your girlfriend and how cute she looks all bundled up in her thickest winter clothes and trying her best to keep herself standing upright on her skates and, between that and your friends - idiots as they are - you could have a whole lot worse, really.

So you allow yourself to skate backwards as Laura moves in front of you and you even humor Kirsch and Danny when they challenge you for a sprint across the lake - which you win, of course.

All in all, it's the perfect night. So perfect, in fact, that a thought of it making up for the crappy month you've had even crosses your mind.

(After all this time, you probably should know better.)

You're skating in front of Laura again and getting ready to call it a night when she seems to trip on something - thin air, most likely - and before you know it the two of you are falling butt-first against the ice - or rather, _you_ are, because Laura's fall is completely cushioned by your body, which you can't even say that you mind when the ending resulting is your girlfriend all breathless and flushed on top of you.

“Hey.” You say, pushing back a strand of hair that came loose from under her toque.

Or rather, _trying_ to.

“ _Carmilla._ ” Laura flinches, pushing herself from you as fast as lightning.

You try to understand what you did wrong - what you did _at all,_ really - but by the time you've managed to push yourself into a seated position Laura is nowhere to be found and most of your teammates are already on their way back to their cars.

“Dude,” Kirsch calls out to you. When you meet his gaze, he points in the direction you and Laura first came through.

You nod to him and you work on taking out your skates as fast as you can because the last thing you need right now is for your girlfriend to be walking alone in a deserted park by herself.

Thankfully, when you get to your car, you find Laura standing against the door, arms crossed and an unreadable look on her face.

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

You want to take back the words as soon as they're out of your mouth, especially when Laura flinches and looks away from you, but you can't.

This is probably long overdue, actually.

“You were going to kiss me.” She says, as if it should've been obvious to you.

“No, I -” you cut yourself. You can't say that you _weren't_ going to, because that's not such an unfathomable idea. “And what if I was?”

Laura pulls back her toque and runs a hand through her hair and you just want to reach out to her and stop this fight before it even begins, but you _can't._

“I told you _I can't_ do this, Carmilla. I'm not ready.”

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes. “Get over yourself, Laura. People weren't even _looking_ at us.”

She shakes her head. “That's not what -”

“Then _what?_ ” You press, taking a step closer to her. “ _What_ is it about, for God’s sake? How is it that you say you want to be with me but whenever someone is around you just keep pushing me away?”

She looks at you for what feels like hours and then, when you finally feel the anger inside you subsiding, she just shakes her head.

“I'd like you to take me home, please.”

“Laura -”

The look she sends you is enough to stop you in your tracks. “Home.” She bites out. “I don't think I can stand looking at you much longer, so _please._ Before we both say something we might regret.”

Her words cut like a knife through your heart and you can't help the bitter laugh that escapes your lip as you unlock the door for her and you walk around to slip into the driver’s seat.

 _Before_ you both say something you might regret?

You play back the last five minutes in your mind.

_Yeah, right._

//

“See?” You turn to your brother as you walk out of Starbucks. “That wasn’t so hard.”

He rolls his eyes at you, “Speak for yourself, Kitty. It was hard enough for me.”

You take a sip of your coffee and pull your letterman closer to your body.

“Just -” you sigh. “Start small, okay? It’s Starbucks now, but it won’t be forever.”

You watch as he kicks a stone in his path, and begrudgingly nods at you.

There’s no denying that you’re proud of him. Things might be difficult for a while, but at least know you can see that they won’t be like that _forever._

At least not when it comes to your siblings.

“And please don’t be an asshole like those dudes that work there.” You tell him. “They get on my nerves.”

You finally see the ghost of a smile cracking on his lips and you kind of have half a mind to pat yourself on your back for such a good job done.

“Look,” he turns to you. “Thank you.”

You’re sure your ears are tricking you.

“You’re what now?”

“I’m not gonna say it again.” He rolls his eyes. “But I mean it.”

You take another sip of your coffee and you look at your brother - so big and yet _so little_ \- and you suddenly feel this strange urge to bring him into a hug.

But that’s not how you were raised to behave, so instead you just bump your shoulders against him and you continue to walk on your way back to his dorm room, where you hope he’s done what you asked and _cleaned_ a little.

It feels as if _y_ is suddenly clear to you.

Now all you need is _z._

//

You want to leave Kirsch’s NYE party as soon as you walk through the door.

It's not that you don't want to be celebrating with your friend, it's just that - well, actually, that's _exactly_ what it is.

You just don't feel like you have anything to celebrate.

Not when you haven't spoken to Laura since the day at the lake and among the last things she spoken to you were the words _I don't think I can stand looking at you much longer_.

Yeah, celebrating? Not at all.

But still, you didn't want to be alone and the idea of alcohol sounded pretty damn good when you were lying on your couch all by yourself, staring at the ceiling and wondering if you could turn the bland off-white paint into a sky full of stars if you concentrated hard enough.

“Hey, you made it!” Kirsch calls out as soon as he sees you, and you can tell that he's already halfway drunk despite the fact that it's a few minutes past eleven. “Where's Laura?”

You shrug.

“Sorry, bro -”

“Oh, you're here!” Perry interrupts him, glancing behind your shoulder and then turning a confused gaze to LaFontaine - who only shrugs at her - before focusing her confused gaze on you again. “Where's Laura?”

It’s probably not a good thing, but a part of you definitely celebrates a little at the fact that even Laura’s closest friends assume you know more about her whereabouts than they do. It’s such a small thing to hinge all of your hopes on and you hate yourself a little for how quickly you rush to hold on to it, but _that_ \- Laura’s friends indirectly acknowledging that the two of you are, in some way, a package deal - is so close to _enough_ for you that it makes you feel as if asking her for more than this is unreasonable.

It probably won’t do to start this party off sobbing your problems out to Perry, though, so you keep that realization to yourself and aim for unaffected.

You roll your eyes. “People have _got_ to stop asking me that question.”

“No, seriously.” LaFontaine says. “She didn't come with you?”

“No.” You bite out. “I'm not her keeper. Maybe she has another party to attend.”

They roll their eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“I don't think that's likely.” Perry agrees. “I'm going to text her again.”

You nod at them and you watch as they disappear into some corner, wishing that you could be a fly so that you could read Laura's response over Perry’s shoulder.

“Do you want a drink, bro?” Kirsch asks you, efficiently pulling you out of your Laura-infested thoughts.

You thought that you did, that you had come to this party for this precise reason, but the idea sounds less than appealing to you right now.

“I'm good.” You tell him. Then, you sigh. “I actually think I'm gonna go back home, I don't feel too good."

“Hey,” Kirsch’s hand falls to your shoulder once you turn around to make your way out the door. “I was talking to Danny about something earlier.”

“What?”

“It's dumb,” he rolls his eyes. “But my mother always said something about how you spend New Years Eve being the way you spend the rest of your year.”

Yeah, he's not making any sense.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just,” he shrugs. “How do you want to spend your year, Carmilla?”

The answer flashes to your mind before he's even done with the question.

What did you say to Will? Start small? You think it might be time you started taking that to heart as well.

(Then again, you don’t feel small when you’re with Laura no matter where you are or who’s around and what they know. You just feel this strange contentment. Like there’s nothing else you could possibly want.)

//

You get to her house and you don't even question whether she _might_ actually be at another party or not, but you still let out a sigh of relief once the door opens and she's standing in front of you.

“Hey.” You say, and you kind of hate how small your voice sounds. “Can I come in?”

* * *

 

You spend almost a week coming up with a plan. But of course, Carmilla ruins it.

You know you’re in the wrong. It might have taken you a few days to realize it, but Carmilla’s right to say you’ve been treating her unfairly. And no, you’re not ready quite yet, but you think you’re ready to explain to her why you aren’t. Even if it terrifies you to have everything out in the open.

But she deserves it, deserves more even, and so it doesn’t take long after the realization until you’re walking towards her apartment, hands in your pockets, rehearsing the speech you had prepared the night before. It consists of about fifteen _I’m sorry_ s and a dozen different ways of you explaining why you’re not ready yet to tell the other important people in your life about her even though you’re so in love with her that sometimes you feel like you’re going to burst just by looking at her.

You might have also stolen Jamie’s origami analogy. Committed so much to stealing it, in fact, that you even toyed with the idea of buying special origami paper - before you remembered that Carmilla has enough goddamn paper cluttering her apartment without you adding to the mess - in order to get your point across. The point being that you can be whatever she needs you to be. Eventually. You just need a little help and a lot of time.

So yes, you’re prepared and you’ve almost convinced yourself of this when you come up to an intersection. You check both ways and when you’re satisfied that no cars are coming your way, you keep walking. You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice Carmilla standing on the edge of the opposite curb until you’re halfway across the street.

She’s got your toque on and she’s looking at you so carefully that you allow yourself to forget that there’s a conversation to be had. Instead, you practically launch yourself at her, arms wrapped around her torso. She accommodates you even in her state of momentary shock and her arms are around your shoulders the next instant, holding you to her while her face is buried in your hair. It doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s missed you too.

But there’s talking to be done and so you pull away and take a step back.

“I - hi.” You take in her warm clothes. “I was just coming to see you - are you - were you on your way somewhere?”

She nods and her left hand disappears into her jacket pocket. After a moment, she pulls it out again and extends it to you, palm up. In her hand is a small Starbucks paper bag.

“I was coming to see _you_.” She frowns a little in the way that you’ve started to recognize as her thinking face. “And I thought I’d buy you something. Because we didn’t leave things right.”

You bite your lip and take the paper bag from her hand. _This girl_.

“It was a whole cookie.” A small blush has risen to her cheeks. “But I stress ate half. Sorry.”

You laugh for what seems like the first time in weeks.

“That’s okay. Thank you. Wanna share this with me?”

She nods and you hand her half of your piece before taking her hand in yours and tugging her back in the direction she came.

//

When you get to the door of her building, Carmilla pulls you back.

“I don’t think you should come in.”

“What?” You can’t read the look on her face. “But we have to talk.”

She lets go of your hand and stands up straighter and you realize that she hadn’t been on her way to you so that the two of you could work this out like normal people.

“Why would you come to see me if you didn’t want to talk?”

She sighs and looks down, “I just wanted to _see_ you. I haven’t gone this long without seeing you or talking to you since - “

She cuts herself off before she says anything else, but she’s said enough for you to finish the connection.

“Carm - “

“No, I - “ Carmilla runs a hand through her hair, taking her - your - toque off in the process. She sighs and hands it to you. “I have - there are things going on right now and I need to fix them, but after. We can talk after.”

She pauses and you wonder how it is that she was born with this incredible ability to blindside you at every turn before you take the toque from her grasp.

“So, after.” She continues, holding your gaze. “If you can wait.”

The _like I waited for you_ goes unsaid, but it’s there.

So you nod and and open your arms and she sighs in relief before stepping into your space. This time, the hug is brief and you both step back quickly, but you can tell Carmilla is much more relaxed.

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready?” You’re not sure if you’re referring to whatever she’s dealing with that has her almost in pieces or if you’re still talking about _talking_.

Either way, Carmilla nods. “I’ll text you.”

//

She does text you - the next day, in fact - but not about what you’d expected.

 

**Carmilla (3:23 P.M.):**

Would you like to decorate my tree with me?

 

You’re not sure how to respond and so you call her 

“Hey.” She says when she picks up. “Are you already downstairs?”

“You really want me to help decorate your tree?” You breathe out, not even caring how needy your voice sounds.

“Yes.” Carmilla says slowly. “We might be fighting, but that doesn’t mean I don’t - it doesn’t mean I don’t want my girlfriend to help me decorate for Christmas.”

You nod and then realize she can’t see you.

“I’ll be there soon.”

When you do get there, the sun has set and Carmilla’s apartment is lit only by the streetlights shining dimly through the open curtains and the glimmer of her electric fireplace. Her door is unlocked and so you lock it behind you and find her standing a few feet from the small Christmas tree, her star mug in hand. She looks critical.

“It’s tiny.” She says when she sees you.

“It is adorable.” You walk over to her and kiss her cheek. It takes you a moment longer than you would have thought thanks to the multiple sets of different coloured baubles around her feet. “ _And_ you have a lot of different colour scheme options.”

There’s a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks.

“Well you weren’t at the store to help me pick, so…” She clears her throat. “I think I like the blue and silver.”

You bend over to pick up a package of glittery silver snowflakes. “Or we could just overload the tree with all of these decorations. Jesus - are those glass Christmas baubles?”

Carmilla shrugs. “So where do we start?”

“Have you never decorated a Christmas tree before?” One look at her face and it is evident she has in fact never decorated a tree in her life. “Okay, wow. I knew you were a grinch, but I didn’t know you were that big of a grinch.”

She scowls at you, but you think she’s forgiven you for the tease by the time you’re helping her string her lights up on the branches of her tree. When she plugs the lights in once they’re in place in order to test if they work, you swear a few times under your breath because she looks absolutely stunning in their glow.

You blame that for how distracted you are the whole time you’re hanging up decorations.

When every piece of Christmas cheer Carmilla had bought is secured to a portion of the tree, you shut the curtains and turn off her fireplace before you give her the go-ahead to plug the lights in again.

She stands and walks over to where you’re standing to look at the tree when the lights flare to life.

“It’s so ugly.” She comments, laughing.

“Hey!” You smack her arm. “I like it.”

Her laughter dies down and her gaze is so soft that you think a part of you melts when she turns her eyes to you.

“I know we haven’t talked, but I really wanted to do this with you.” Carmilla bites her lip. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You don’t know how to express exactly how you feel in this moment using words so you lean into her and she meets you halfway. The kiss is sweet and slow and you have to catch your breath afterwards.

You think the two of you are going to be okay.

//

You and your dad go Christmas shopping together the same week. You’re not sure when it was last time that the two of you had gone to the mall together, but it surprisingly takes very little effort these days to spend time with him.

He had made you promise not to get each other’s presents during this trip because he loves surprises and is also terrible at lying to you and so you spend half the time dragging him around stores to get presents for your friends while he spends the other half dragging you around and asking you if you think distant relatives would like this or that. You’re in a sporting goods store buying a baseball shirt for a great uncle or something like that when he points and nudges you.

“Do you think Carmilla would like that?”

You turn your head in the direction he’s pointing.

It’s a shelf of knee sleeves - you’ve seen Carmilla wear one every now and again whenever the cold weather makes her knee ache a little - and the particular one your father is referring to is jet black and dotted with skulls.

Your throat tightens.

“I already got her a present, Dad.” You remind him.

“It won’t be from you, it’d be from me.” He moves past you and grabs it off of the hook and not for the first time, you think he knows a lot more than he’s letting on. “Can’t let my star player try to keep up with your pace without any help now, can I?”

You nod and you want to tell him, you do, but your tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of your mouth.

//

 

**Carmilla (7:01 P.M.):**

Bought your Christmas present today.

 

You almost do a double-take when the text flashes up on your screen. It’s been a week or so  of almost radio silence now save for when she comes to your games and sticks around afterward to tell you how well you had played. You do the same and you give her the courtesy of running at night in order to save you both the awkwardness. She needs space and you think the least you could do is give her some.

This whole thing has made you feel numb. It’s not heartbreak, no, because the resolution has yet to be reached thanks to Carmilla’s preoccupation with something clearly very important to her combined with finals. But it feels like limbo, like you’re in the middle of a battle drawn out so long that all the fight has gone out of it.

You miss her more than anything. And you wish there was some way for you to talk about this with her without disrespecting her request for you to wait. But it all seems so counterproductive.

 

**Carmilla (7:15 P.M.):**

I miss you.

 

You sigh. There’s not much you can do about staying away when her text messages read like that. 

Before you know it, you’re walking the familiar path to her building, backpack strapped to your shoulders. It is the holiday season after all and no sane person would ask someone to spend it without their girlfriend. Carmilla wanted you there to decorate her tree, maybe holiday activities can be the no-man’s land of this war.

“Carm.” You say into the intercom once she calls out a curt _hi_ through the speaker.

You hear her take a breath. “Laura, I’m not in the mood to argue.”

“No arguing.” You clear your throat because this suddenly feels like a very bad idea. “I brought _Miracle on 34th Street_ and microwave popcorn and cocoa packets.”

“Cocoa packets?”

You roll your eyes despite her not being able to see them at present.

“Before you even ask, yes, the ones with marshmallows shaped like snowmen.”

“No talking?”

“No talking.” You promise.

There’s a pause and then the familiar click of the door unlocking.

“I’ll put the kettle on.”

//

It becomes a regular occurrence, you bringing Christmas movies over to Carmilla’s and curling up with her on the couch to watch them while her star mug sits empty beside whatever mug she’d chosen for you on the coffee table. Her tree is lit up and the fireplace is on and she’s so warm and perfect against you that you start not to mind the fact that there isn’t ever talking involved outside of small talk or conversations related to the movies. There line seems to be drawn at cuddles.

At least until a few days before Christmas when _The Polar Express_ is on. Carmilla spends her time turned away from the TV, watching you instead. About midway through - you’d had to keep your focus on the movie to prevent from jumping her bones - she leans in and slots her mouth over yours.

You honestly forget how to breathe.

You’ve missed her _so_ much.

Carmilla then shifts so that she’s straddling you, her fingers warm under the fabric of your shirt. Your eyes shut on their own when she dips her head to mouth at the hollow of your throat.

“You’ll tell me if you want to stop?” She asks, all of a sudden sitting up, but still on top of you. It takes you a while to work out that she’s shutting the movie off.

“Yes.” You nod along to your agreement for good measure.

Carmilla grins and then climbs off of you. She pushes at your legs so that you’re sitting up against the armrest and then flicks open the button of your jeans. Your body trembles at the sight of her kneeling between your legs, pushing your pants down insistently and taking your underwear with it. She plants little kisses along the inside of your thigh.

“Carm.” You say, unable to help your hands from gravitating to her hair.

She stops what she’s doing and there is mischief in her eyes.

“No talking unless you want me to stop, sweetheart.”

//

On the morning of Christmas Eve, you are shocked to find Carmilla on the other side of your front door. She’s got a badly wrapped present in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“For your dad.” She says, raising the hand with the wine in it slightly. She jiggles the rectangular gift and you notice the small bow she had stuck on. “And for you.”

“I’ll have to go get your present.” You tell her.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, uh, Dad’s not home - “ She grimaces and you mentally kick yourself for how badly that came across. “I said that to let you know he’s not here to exchange gifts. Not as the reason I’m letting you in.”

Carmilla doesn’t respond.

You go up to your room and retrieve the envelope you’d sealed a few weeks ago that contains her gift as well as the knee sleeve your dad had bought her that you’d wrapped a few days ago. When you come back downstairs, Carmilla is standing in the exact spot you’d left her in.

“Make yourself comfortable.” You say, gesturing to the living room. Carmilla kicks her boots off and slowly walks in the direction you’re pointing towards. You are reminded how little time she has spent here compared to how much time you’ve spent at her apartment when she looks back at you over her shoulder in question and you have to squeeze by her to flick on the lights.

You know all her light switches.

She sits and puts the wine down on the side table before shifting to face you. You do the same, criss-crossing your legs in front of you. You hand her your dad’s present first and she puts yours down in the space between you.

“I hope he knows he didn’t have to.” She says, carefully tearing at the paper. When she finally gets it unwrapped, a small laugh escapes her. “I’m definitely wearing this next time I get sore.”

You give her the envelope next.

Last year, when you barely knew her, you had been fascinated by the gentleness in her touch as she opened your gift. This time around, knowing what it feels like to be cherished under the same soft hands, you are no longer surprised.

“Fifty dollars to Starbucks.” She ducks her head, but you can still see the wide smile on her face.

“You’ve spent the last year paying for it. I figured I could get the next few.”

“Laura.” She says seriously, but she’s still smiling. “With your chai tea latte habit, you know this will only last a month.”

You love the way that smile crinkles the corners of her eyes.

“It’s the thought that counts, right?”

She reaches across the distance between you and takes your hand.

“Open mine?”

You nod.

It takes you about ten minutes - you only have one free hand and there is an abundance of tape hampering your progress - but you eventually manage to unwrap the gift. What you find staring back at you under all the wrapping paper shakes you a little.

“I watched it all when I was a kid. I wasn’t a TV nerd like you.” Carmilla says and you know she’s watching you stare at the DVD box set. “But I got hooked when I first saw this one. Kept up with it. And I thought maybe whenever you feel like giving TV another shot, you could bring this over and we can watch it together.”

You squeeze her hand. “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas.” She says, lifting your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles.

//

You spend Christmas Day with your dad, opening presents, cooking, and watching the parade on TV. He wears the new whistle you'd gotten him around his neck all day and you are tempted to do the same with the new cleats he'd gifted you.

It's a testament to your progress with him, how different Christmas goes from the year before. He even makes you cocoa before you go to bed.

“Merry Christmas, Laura.” He says, kissing your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad. Merry Christmas.”

//

Carmilla doesn't call again until two days after Christmas.

“I'm outside.”

You peek through the blinds and sure enough, her car is sitting in the driveway.

“You could have just knocked.”

“You don't seem to like me coming around when Coach is home.” She sounds tired and you are fed up with all of this.

If she'd just let you explain -

“Carmilla - “

“Don't even bother.”

Your laugh comes out bitter. “Don't even bother? When you're saying things like that and I can't even explain myself because you don't want to talk about it? Don't even bother? That's rich, Carmilla.”

“Unless your explanation includes you saying you've told him, I'm not interested.”

“So what I have to say doesn't even matter unless it's what you want to hear?”

She sighs. “I didn't say that.”

“You might as well have.”

“Look.” Another sigh. "The team volunteers at the soup kitchen every year around Christmas, do you wanna go?"

You're not sure you're hearing her correctly.

"Carmilla, we’re in the middle of an argument right now."  
  
"Well, yeah, I know. But do you?"  
  
"Do I what?"  
  
"Wanna go? We can go skating after. The lake at the park has frozen and we all go there when we're done. Maybe you'll be better with your skates on this time around." She pauses and then clears her throat. “I would like it if you came with me.”

You close your eyes because it's exhausting to have this much between you and still love her so much.

“And then after, maybe we can have that talk.” She adds.

“I'll be out in a few minutes.” You start walking towards the stairs. “Sit tight.”

Her voice comes out quiet. “I'm not going to leave you behind.”

//

You don’t have that talk. Instead, you spend an afternoon so wonderful with her and her teammates that you’re honestly surprised when it all goes to shit.

//

It’s not much of a change from your usual routine these days, but it still frustrates you when you realize that you waste a solid day and a half post-fight thinking about Carmilla Karnstein’s hypothetical feelings for you.

She’s said a few things and you’ve said your share, but you still don’t know how deep her feelings run and it annoys you to no end because if you knew how she felt then maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess. But that would also require an actual conversation and it doesn’t seem like you’re any good at that, so.

It's like one of those equations with multiple variables that Carmilla loves. It seems that _x_ \- you're in love with her - and _y_ \- her - have already been handed to you.

But you still need _z_.

//

Perry texts you like eight times asking where you are before you finally reply that you’re not coming to the New Year’s Eve party that everyone and their grandmother seem to be at. It’s not that you didn’t expect her to notice your absence, but more like you hadn’t expected her to care quite _this_ much.

You can practically see Carmilla rolling her eyes at your thoughts.

She’s half the reason you didn’t want to come tonight, the other being your general disinterest in filling your body with alcohol, and just thinking about her makes you want to grab some running shoes and ring in the New Year circling the track.

It’s – you’ve given her so much of yourself that the thought of her wanting more makes you sick to your stomach.

//

Your dad leaves sometime around nine to go for drinks with his friends and he asks if you’d rather he stay, but you insist in him going. It’s one of his traditions and you’re not going to be the cause of it being broken.

After he leaves, you start doing the advanced reading you were assigned for one of your chemistry classes. Your brain is sluggish and it’s not even midnight yet when you decide to give up and call it a night. You shut your window because the firecrackers have already started going off and you’re so preoccupied with making sure you’ve fastened the latch properly that you almost miss the doorbell ringing.

You open the door without thinking because it’s probably your dad, but instead it’s Carmilla, her hands are stuffed in the pockets of the leather jacket she’s wearing and she’s looking at you so intently that it makes you step back a little.

“Hey.” She says. “Can I come in?”

“Why?” Your voice comes out flat and her jaw clenches and unclenches at the sound so you clear your throat before speaking again. “Why are you even here?”

“I just – “ She tilts her head and swallows and you notice the way her eyes focus on the doorframe to your left instead of directly on you and it makes your hand on the doorknob tighten. “Kirsch said something stupid about how you spend New Year’s Eve being the way you spend the rest of the year.”

She rolls her eyes and scuffs the toe of her boot against the wood of your porch and your grip on the doorknob loosens slightly when her eyes meet yours.

“And I don’t – “ She rolls her eyes again. “You – I know we’re fighting, but I just thought – “

She bites her lip and raises a hand to brush some hair out of her eyes and normally your heart would be beating out of your chest just looking at her, but _she left_ and then you left, and it became this big mess and you hadn’t hurt like that in years.

“I don’t want to spend my year without you.” She says softly. You feel like you might cry.

“It’s stupid and cheesy, but if you can do me the favor of not shutting the door in my face until – “ She pulls her phone out of her pocket. “- four minutes from now, I’d appreciate it.”

You’re selfish. You’ve always been and Carmilla’s already halfway out - you know this won’t hurt her nearly as much as it _could_ hurt you - but this isn’t you being selfish, this is self-preservation at its finest. You’ve just started climbing your way out of a dark pit that you were thrown in at sixteen, you _can’t_ be left behind again.

“Carmilla.” Her head snaps up and you have to swallow down the urge to tell her that you’re sorry and that you’ll try to be better. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”

Just then, the fireworks start going off and they light up the sky behind her and you think the universe must have a sense of humor because in this moment, with the lights in your eyes, you momentarily lose sight of both Carmilla and the glittering piece of forever you’d named for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, over 5k kudos??? YOU GUYS. THANK YOU.
> 
>  
> 
> [ask blog](http://bsau-asks.tumblr.com/)  
> [tams](http://itmustbebunnies.tumblr.com)  
> [celina](http://patsiewalker.tumblr.com)


	21. January - Junior Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka they finally get their shit together and all the pain is finally worth it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We might still be a few chapters away from the end, but if you're still with us at this point, you can now proudly say you've survived bs au.
> 
> As always, thanks to Kaitlyn for always making time for us and to you guys for reading!

She laughs. Honest to God laughs before it seems to dawn on her that you’re not joking. The sound mingles with the leftover noise from the fireworks, but it dies much quicker.

“You’re being serious.” She takes a step closer and you let go of the door and take one of your own towards her without even thinking about it. You hate yourself a little for that because how can you go through with this when you can’t even stop your body from wanting to be near her? “I’m sorry for making you believe that.”

She’s so close that you can probably count her eyelashes. You’ve never denied yourself the knowledge that Carmilla is beautiful - not even when all you knew of her was her hockey prowess and bad attitude - but standing here, as you’re about to give her up for your own sake, you think she’s never been prettier.

You’re crying before you know it and her eyes flash with concern so genuine and lovely that you close your eyes to block it out.

“Laura.” She says and you can feel her hands on your waist. “I have never been more confident in probabilities working out than when I’m with you.”

She lets out a puff of air and there’s that small laugh that always escapes her lips when she’s in a situation she can’t quite believe. You don’t have to open your eyes to know that she’s burning a hole through you with her stare.

“Just - just tell me what you need from me and I’ll give it to you.”

“I think we should break up.”

“Laura -” Her grip on your waist tightens and there’s a panic in her voice that you haven’t heard since that night at her apartment when she told you _I’m not like those girls you always find at those parties_ and this is harder than you originally thought. “I’m not letting you break up with me over some dumb argument -”

“We’re going to be having that _dumb_ argument most likely for the rest of our lives, Carmilla. _I’m not going to change_.”

“Sounds good to me.” She breathes out and you can’t help but open your eyes to look at her. She looks scared, as if she’s faced with a wild animal. “I’m in. I’ll have that argument for the next sixty years with you.”

Carmilla looks so afraid that you know there’s no way she doesn’t mean it and a needy part of you that had been waiting for an indication about how serious she is about this - about you - relaxes at her words.

 _Sixty years_.

The words work over you and you feel like someone is dumping a bucket of cold water over your head over and over again and everything seems so much _simpler_. You knew before that she wants this, but she’s hard to read and you hadn’t been certain of exactly how deep that want goes and yes, you should have just asked but that doesn’t come easy to you either.

It occurs to you that over the past few weeks - no matter how hellish they’ve been - Carmilla hasn’t stopped coming back to you. She keeps proving herself over and over again and your stomach twists at how easily you had been willing to give up when she’s done nothing but try to make it all work.

And your brain is slow to react, but your body knows what it wants.

You’ve barely allowed yourself to entertain the notion that she’s truly planning to stick around before you’ve got a handful of her jacket and you’re stepping through the doorway and pressing your mouth to hers. She tastes like chocolate and the fact that there’s no trace of alcohol at all on her tongue makes your brain spin.

You had asked her once why she drinks and her answer had been _liquid courage, babe_ and maybe you like the idea that she’s here without artificial courage to blame.

The door is still open behind you and Carmilla has to push you back in order to get completely inside the house. You reverse your momentum and press her against the door in order to close it and then she cups your cheeks, strokes your cheekbones with her thumbs, before pulling away.

“Don’t break up with me.” She whispers, resting her forehead against yours.

You shake your head. “I never wanted to, I just - it hurt so much -”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you -”

“No, there’s something wrong with me, it’s not your -”

“I asked for too much.” She pulls back a little and smiles sadly. “But -”

“You _did_ not.” You can’t help but interrupt her again. There is a question in her eyes and you hold her chin in between your thumb and forefinger so that she can’t look away. “You asked for what you wanted. And I may not always want the same things, but don’t ever apologize for that.”

You don’t break eye contact until she gives a small nod.

“How about we talk, hmm?” You ask her, taking a step back and her hand. “It won’t be fun for either of us but we can make a game of it or something.”

She smiles. “Learn that from your therapist, Hollis?”

You think of how Jamie has taught you how to open up to her by shifting the focus away from talking and onto something else.

“I’ll show you what I learned from my therapist.”

“I really hope you don’t mean that sexually -“

“Carmilla.” You say on a laugh, tugging on her hand. “Just follow, okay?”

Carmilla smiles again and then brings her free hand up to your face. She runs her thumb over one of your eyebrows and your muscles relax underneath her touch. You hadn’t even realized that you were wearing a tense expression.

“Thank you.”

“Wouldn’t want you to get wrinkles early now, would I?” She drawls, pushing off of the door and finally letting you pull her along towards the stairs. You pause when you get to the bottom and make sure she’s looking when you hit the switch to turn on the lights.

She follows you to your room in silence. You close the door behind her and she spends about ten seconds just standing in one spot, her arms crossed, fingers drumming against her bicep.

“You’ve been here before.” You remind her, unable to keep the smile off of your face because Carmilla isn’t often nervous, but is so completely adorable when she is that it kind of makes your whole day.

“Yeah that’s different. I was drunk and then hungover the next morning.”

“You can put your jacket and stuff there if you like.” You jerk a thumb towards the computer chair. “Relax, babe. I don’t bite.”

Carmilla scoffs. “We’ve established that you do.”

“Points off for predictability.” You tell her, letting the warm feeling in your chest engulf you once she finally moves to take her jacket off and make herself comfortable. You could definitely get used to having her here.

You climb into bed while Carmilla’s shrugging out of her jacket, fully expecting her to join you and prompt you to start talking before you can do the same to her. She lingers by your desk, however.

“Carm?”

She turns and holds up a picture frame. “You have a picture of me on your desk?”

It’s a photo of her celebrating a goal that you’d taken impulsively almost a year ago now. You’d had it so long that you didn’t even realize she hasn’t seen it.

“And on my nightstand, on my shelf, on my wall, and in my locker at the stadium.” You say, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. “You’re a big part of my life, you know.”

She doesn’t say anything, but does put the picture back down before walking over to situate herself on the bed beside you. You notice her socks don’t match.

“So.” You say, clearing your throat. “Give me your right hand.”

She offers it to you without question and you arrange her hand and yours so that you’re both ready for a thumb war.

“It’s easier to talk when you’re doing something interesting with your hands.” You say, nudging her thumb with yours to start the game. When you sneak a glance away from your joined hands and up at her face, she’s smirking. “Oh come on, mind out of the gutter, Karnstein.”

“I didn’t even say anything.” She huffs. “I was only thinking about how big of a cheater you are because you _know_ I’m left-handed.”

“It slipped my mind. Besides, if I remember correctly, you’re pretty capable with both hands.”

Before you realize what you’ve said, she’s already talking again. “See, cutie, I don’t think _capable_ was what you were thinking when -”

You cut her off by pinning her thumb down hard enough that she has to shut up in order to focus on wiggling out of your hold.

“Carmilla. So.” You’re nervous, but _sixty years_ is still fresh in your memory. “We fought, I said I wasn’t ready -”

“I know. I was there. I was a dick about it.” _She was_. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I was.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.”

“Right, so yeah, fight and me not being ready.” You swallow. “Do you want to know why I wasn’t?”

“You talk like there are things about you that I don’t want to know.” Carmilla mutters, very nearly pinning your thumb under hers. “But yes, I’d be lying if I said I don’t need the explanation to understand all of this.”

“When my mother left, all the neighbours knew.” Carmilla’s hand goes completely still and you have to bump your thumb against hers to get her moving again. “They felt sorry for me and my dad. They brought over food a lot. It felt weirdly like I was attending my own funeral.”

“A lot of people would love to attend their own funeral.” Carmilla says softly. You shake your head.

“Yeah to hear all the great stuff other people are saying about them. And there was a lot of that, but there was a lot of pity, too.” You wiggle your thumb away from hers. “Do you know what that feels like, having hundreds of people feel sorry for you because you weren’t enough?”

Carmilla shakes her head.

“Well, it feels like crap. And some days, I felt so small. Like, I could disappear and no one would notice so I found something and I made sure I was so good at it that everyone knew it.”

“Soccer.”

“Yeah.” You smile a little. “My teammates notice when I’m not on the field and if they don’t, everyone else watching or looking at the scoresheet afterwards do.”

You pause, trying to put together what you want to say next and Carmilla squeezes your fingers in encouragement.

“And then you came along and I was real lousy at you in the beginning. I couldn’t figure out how to be good, but then I did and I think I’m getting better at you.” You take a breath. “If we’re using soccer analogies I’d say I was playing at the level of a reserve who’s really really passionate about the game, but doesn’t know if the game has a future for her. Think a high school junior wondering if she’ll get scholarships.”

Carmilla laughs and you know it’s because you were both that high school junior once upon a time.

“Is she going to get scholarships?”

“Hush. Listen.” Carmilla’s thumb is getting more aggressive and you think it’s probably because she thinks she can catch you off-guard and win, which _not a chance_. “So, I’m a high school reserve and I’m slacking off and not taking chances on the field because I don’t want to get my hopes up and get let down, but then for some miraculous reason, the game decides I _am_ good enough even if I don’t think so and that I should be given a bottomless scholarship so that I can spend the rest of my life getting better at it. Sixty years, give or take.”

Carmilla looks up. “You weren’t sure how serious I was about you.”

You shake your head once.

“I’m sorry, I should have said.” She sighs. “But I thought showing you was enough.”

“That’s not your fault, I should have just applied for the damn scholarship to begin with but I was scared of being rejected.” Your chest feels a lot lighter. “I didn’t want to say anything, before,  because it felt a lot like telling people I’ve been accepted to university on a scholarship when in reality I hadn’t even worked up the guts to apply for it.”

“But now?”

You smile. “You kind of handed me that lifetime scholarship earlier.”

“I did.” She agrees, tugging at your joined hands so that she can pull you in for a hug. You have to twist towards her so it’s a bit uncomfortable but you don’t really care. “But that doesn’t mean you have to start climbing rooftops and shouting from them. I get it now. I can wait.”

“Thank you.” You pull away a little so you can look her in the eye. “And maybe I’m not ready for rooftops quite yet, but I can stand up on tables. And I can scream really loud.”

“That I know.” Carmilla says on a breathy laugh. “I’m sorry that it took me this long to get it and that you hurt a lot before I figured it out.”

“You hurt too.” You say, reaching up to brush some hair out of her eyes. “And you were dealing with things. We can talk about that now. Or later, but we _are_ talking about it at some point.”

Carmilla nods. “Now, but maybe downstairs? I obviously like to talk when you’re across the table and we have hot drinks.”

Yeah, _that_ you figured out a long time ago.

//

The kettle’s on, there are cocoa packets and extra marshmallows on the counter Carmilla’s leaning against and you’re leaning against Carmilla when you hear the front door opening. It’s your dad, there’s no one else it could be. You stay where you are, though, your face pressed up against Carmilla’s neck, arms around her waist. Her hands in your hair freeze for a moment.

“It’s fine, Carm.” You say, squeezing her around the waist. “Tables, remember? I’ll shout later, but this is fine, okay?”

She hums and continues playing with the ends of your hair. You hear your dad moving around the house, his footsteps getting louder just before they pause.

“There you are.” He says. “Hey, Karnstein.”

“Coach.” Carmilla acknowledges.

“Looking for my lucky deck of cards, Laur. I forgot to grab them before I left.” The kettle goes off and you step away from Carmilla so you can deal with it. “Do you know where they are?”

“By lucky,” you say, rolling your eyes at Carmilla and shutting off the stove. “he means doctored. And no, Dad, haven’t seen them.”

“I don’t like to gamble and lose.” He says by way of explanation.

“Do you gamble for money?” Carmilla asks as she empties the cocoa packets into two separate mugs.

You scoff. “Nachos.”

Eventually, he wanders off into the living room and you hear an _aha!_ and a _bye kids!_ before the door is shutting behind him once again. Carmilla stirs her cocoa calmly.

“That wasn’t so bad?”

“No.” You agree, dropping three more marshmallows into her cup before adding to yours. “Not a bad start.”

You grab your mug and lead her to the kitchen table. She settles across from you, her features twisted into a look of concentration. You take a couple of sips from your mug before she finally begins speaking.

“So Will is here.” She says, stirring at her drink absentmindedly. “He ran away from home.”

“I thought your mother loved him best.”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “But it’s a suffocating kind of love, you know? It’s either too much or nothing at all with her. He’d had enough of it.”

She takes a drink of her cocoa.

“I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’s always taken after me. The difference being that when I ran away I took a trust fund with me and he doesn’t have that, so.” You feel her socked foot bump against your legs under the table and you smile when you realize she’s swinging her legs back and forth as she thinks. “I didn’t know how to help him - I didn’t think I could help him, so I told Mattie what happened, which would have been a stellar idea if it wasn’t for the fact that she tells mother everything. But then she got angry that I hadn’t told her about it right away.”

“You were trying to figure out how to help him it’s not like she needs to be your top -”

“Cupcake, just listen.” Carmilla interrupts, smiling. “So she was mad because I told her too late and Will was mad because I told her and it was pretty touch and go there for a while. I didn’t know if I could fix it, didn’t know where to start and I wasn’t in a good place in my head. I was screwing everything up with people that I cared about, but I thought, if I could keep you then it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Carmilla’s smile turns into a frown.

“So I pushed and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Water under the bridge.” You tell her.

“What’s the capacity of that body of water and how high is this bridge? We’ve put a lot under there.”

“It’s a river.” You say smartly, waving her worries away with your hand. “It runs through.”

There’s that smile again.

“It turned out okay. Mattie hasn’t told mother and I had to work to get Will to forgive me, but I think he trusts me again. I’m teaching him how to support himself. He’s got a job now and everything.” There’s so much pride in her voice. You can tell how much she cares for her brother. “But it was frustrating and so tiring and I knew that if I tried to make things right with you while I was trying to make things right with him that I’d screw up one way or the other.”

“So you asked me to wait.” You sigh, thinking about how this all could have gone differently if the two of you weren’t so careful with each other. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve had more than your fair share of family problems.” Carmilla shrugs. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with the mess that I was at all. But then I felt like you were slipping away and I missed you and so I caused a bigger mess.”

She sighs again and then smiles. “Um...the end?”

“You know that you can tell me everything, right? From now on, your problems are my problems too.”

She reaches for your hand and you let her pull you forward a bit in your chair so that she can press kisses to your knuckles.

“I’ll work on it.” She promises.

//

On New Year’s Day, you wake up to the sight of Carmilla walking towards you, cups in hand. She waits for you to sit up before handing you yours and then walking around to her side of the bed so she can sit beside you.

“Morning.” You say, leaning in for a quick kiss before starting on finishing the cocoa in your hand.

“Good morning.” Carmilla clears her throat. “I ran into your dad downstairs.”

“He’s your coach. You see him all the time.”

“Not while wearing _your_ pyjamas in _your_ house, the morning after I fucked you all night.”

“Fair point.” You allow, shuffling over so you can lean your head against her shoulder. “What’d he say?”

“Nothing.” She seems to consider it and then amends. “Don’t put those marshmallows in, there are already marshmallows in the packet.”

“Good ol’ dad watching my sugar consumption.” You say. Carmilla downs her drink and sets her cup on the nightstand. “I’ll talk to him later.”

“That’ll be fun.” She wraps her arms around your shoulders and you just sink further into her.

“Oh yeah he’ll be _thrilled_ my girlfriend’s a Montreal fan.”

“Laura, if he really cares about your happiness, he’ll agree with me that the team he cheers for is stupid.”

“Why do I feel like this is what my Thanksgivings are going to look like from now on?”

Carmilla smiles into your hair. “Christmases too, sweetheart.”

//

Later, after Carmilla leaves so she can go home and sleep - _you kept me up all night, Laura_ \- you approach your dad as he’s watching TV in the living room.

“I’m dating your favourite player.” You blurt out at him before you lose nerve. He looks at you and then turns back to the TV, flicking his wrist as he hits the remote to shut it off.

“You’re… dating yourself?”

“You know what I mean, Dad.” You say, picking up a throw pillow and hugging it to you. “Carmilla.”

He pats the space beside him on the couch. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You walk over to take the invitation and sit next to him. He puts his arm around you and it’s been so long since the two of you have sat down like this that you feel so very young next to him.

“Dating her as in I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her.”

“Ah.” He pats your shoulder. “So this is a serious thing then?”

“Is that - are you okay with that?”

“As long as she puts more effort into your relationship than she does backchecking, I am all good with that, pumpkin.”

“Thank you.” You say, giving him a hug. “And she backchecks just fine.”

“I know, I just like giving her hell for it. There aren’t many things she’s only average at.”

You scoff. “And you deny that she’s your favourite.”

He tilts his chin up in a bit of a challenge, eyebrow raised.

“Isn’t she yours?”

 _Touch_ _é_.

“Yeah, she’s my favourite, too.”

You sit in silence for a few minutes then, your head against his shoulder.

“Laura?” He says as he’s turning the TV back on.

“Yeah?”

“You know that I already knew, right?”

//

Your first practice after the holidays runs smoothly. The team’s focus seems to be renewed and the rest seems to have done them all some good. That’s not what you had been worried about leading up to the day, however.

You hadn’t seen LaFontaine and Perry since you exchanged presents with them a few days before Christmas. You’d sent a few texts, yes, but conversation hadn’t run deep and you knew that telling them would be an in person thing.

So after practice, you wait outside the locker room for the two of them even though you’re already dressed and ready to go home. You’re prepared. You’re even wearing your lucky baseball cap, which isn’t even yours - it’s Carmilla’s - but whatever. This is important to you. LaF and Perry are important to you.

You hold up two fingers in Carmilla’s direction when you see her sitting in her car in the parking lot to indicate that you need a few minutes.  She nods and then you see her turning off her engine.

You thank your lucky stars - star - that it’s a nice day because you stand outside for a significant amount of time. More than half the team walks by you on their separate ways home. A few make small talk and you humor their attempts until you finally see Perry walk out.

She is much earlier than LaF and so you spend some time talking to her about what feast she prepared for Christmas and how she’d brought several trays of her famous jelly shots to the New Year’s party.

“I made you three virgin ones.” She says matter-of-factly. “You should have been there, Laura.”

You don’t disagree with her.

When LaFontaine finally joins the two of you, they are in high spirits. They’re eating a bag of trail mix and you shake your head when they offer you another package of the stuff peeking out of their duffel bag. But then Carmilla honks her horn and you roll your eyes, but take the offered snack for her sake.

“What’s up, cap?” They ask, waving in Carmilla’s direction. Carmilla honks again in acknowledgement.

“I, uh, wanted to tell you guys something.” You begin, suddenly feeling very self-conscious of your decision to do this faux-casually after practice as if it isn’t a big deal at all. Maybe you should have gone with telling them over dinner or something like you’d originally planned to, but too late now.

“We already know that you’re gay, dude.”

Perry smacks them in the arm and sends trail mix spilling everywhere.

“LaFontaine! Laura clearly wants to tell us something important. This is not the time for jokes.” She’s glaring and you’re smiling because LaF looks genuinely terrified by it. “Go on, Laura.”

You don’t bother beating around the bush. “Carmilla and I are dating.”

“Okay.” Perry says just as a slow smile starts spreading over LaF’s face. “Continue.”

“No, that’s - that’s it. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

The two of them share a glance.

“Oddly enough, we already knew that, too.” LaF says, shit-eating grin fully formed on their face.

“We were in the campsite next to yours, Laura.” Perry adds helpfully.

//

Carmilla laughs about it for a good three blocks when you tell her.

“ _Perry_ said that?” Her nose crinkles and it’s adorable so you forgive her a little bit. “I did not think she had it in her to insinuate something like that.”

“Well, she did.” You say shortly, tipping more trail mix into Carmilla’s palm. “And they said they’ve known for a while. Just like my dad said he knew, too.”

“Well, yeah.” Carmilla says around what she’s chewing. “It was pretty obvious, cutie.”

“If you knew that the other people closest to me knew then why did you push?” You ask, not looking for another apology, but curious all the same.

Carmilla shrugs and then looks over at you. “I wanted you to know, too.”

//

You think it makes sense that January holds a lot of firsts, being the first month of the year and all, but one first you despise it for is the first day of the spring semester.

You don’t usually mind school, but these days your classes are so difficult and uninteresting for you that it’s become a form of torture.

“Why do you hate it so much?” Carmilla asks one day after your regularly scheduled _I hate school_ rant is over and you’re no longer running as hot as the tea in front of you.

You’re at Starbucks together - _surprise_ , _surprise_ \- and you’re editing a paper she’d written for one of her Philosophy classes while she sits across from you, reading her book. It’s not a long paper, but it’s taking you longer than usual to get through it because even in her writing, Carmilla emulates great philosophers and says a lot even if she’s not really saying much at all.

“I’m not interested in my classes this semester. Nor am I any good at them.” You fix a typo for her as you speak. “It’s kind of horrible.”

“Change majors, then.” Carmilla says simply.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Uh, yeah. _It is_.” Carmilla closes her book and leans forward on her elbows. “You’ve had two years to see what you like and dislike. Now is as good of a time as any to stop studying things that don’t interest you.”

You look at her over the top of the laptop that’s sitting in between the two of you.

“How did you know that you wanted to do math and philosophy?”

“I like numbers. No, seriously, listen.” She huffs when you roll your eyes at her beyond obvious reasoning. “And I like learning about knowledge and it amazed me how related the two can be and I just knew I’d never get tired of exploring that middle ground between them.”

You can’t help it, your lips quirk upward. “Nerd.”

“You’re a nerd.” Carmilla says, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms. She looks like the perfect picture of apathy.

“Wow, what a hard-hitting comeback.” You nudge her foot under the table to get her to look at you and you smile as softly as you can. “I’m glad you told me that. That was nice! And here I was thinking you’d say something practical.”

“Doing something because you like it is no longer considered practical?”

“Fair point.”

She smirks in that smug way of hers that used to make you want to punch her squarely in the face, but now only makes your heart skip a beat. Your resulting eye roll makes you smile and that, in turn, makes her smile. You just smile at each other like a pair of idiots for a few minutes, then, until Carmilla breaks the silence.

“You like to volunteer, right? And helping people out, that’s your thing? Maybe you should look into careers like that.” She sighs. “I don’t want to be pushy about this, too, but I care about your future.”

Your smile widens because she _is_ that future.

“Yeah.” You tell her, reaching for her hand and meeting her gaze squarely. “So do I.”

When a rare blush rises up on her cheeks, you know she understood what you mean.

//

Another first: seeing Jamie a few weeks into the new year. She’d gone for a vacation to somewhere tropical for over a month and so when you show up to your appointment, you do so with her Christmas present in hand.

“Nice tan.” You tell her when you walk in. She’s sitting on the floor in front of a jigsaw puzzle that’s nowhere near complete. You’ve been to enough appointments by now that you don’t even ask about it before taking a seat opposite her.

“Tans were on sale in the Caribbean.” She says, chuckling. You notice she, like most people you’ve seen since the holiday season ended, looks refreshed. “How are you?"

“Good.” You hand over the paper bag. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you.” She takes a peek inside and then pulls out the bottle. “Wine? Good wine, too. Lucky pick or research?”

“Neither.” You shrug, aim for nonchalant, but you’re pretty sure the smile that just completely takes over your face ruins the act. “My girlfriend recommended it.”

Jamie’s eyebrows just about disappear into her hairline.

“I’ve missed a lot, haven’t I?” She sets the wine down on the carpet beside her and gestures to the puzzle pieces. “Shall we?”

“Well, yeah, I mean puzzle pieces don’t just come together on their own, right?” You start assembling a small part of the puzzle as you talk. “We have to work on it or else it’ll all just be broken bits.”

“Did your girlfriend teach you how to steal your therapist’s thunder, too?”

“How did you know that this was what you wanted to do with your life?”

“Well, you’re certainly talkative today.”

“I’m always talkative.” You reply, putting more puzzle pieces together.

“It’s not good to lie to your therapist, Ms. Hollis.”

“I wasn’t lying. New year, new me and all of that. Old me wasn’t talkative.” You finally manage to fit the last piece in. “I’m better now.”

“Thank you for that fantastic segue.” She keeps talking before you can ask what she means. “Puzzle look good?”

“Good enough.” You scan your work. “All the pieces are there.”

“How many pieces are there?”

You roll your eyes because _math_. “Sixty-four.”

She picks up the puzzle, which had turned out to be of a swan, and then breaks it all apart again before you can protest.

“Puzzle look good?”

“No, you broke it.”

There’s a pause.

“All the pieces are still there, though, right?” Jamie finally asks. She’s watching you closely.

You sigh. “You have spare thunderbolts.”

“Thanks for noticing.” She says. “For what it’s worth, you set me up for it well.”

“Would it be rude if I told you to just get on with it?”

“Yes, thank you for not saying so.” Jamie’s tone changes into something serious. “The point is, broken or not, well put together or not, it’s still the same puzzle.”

You watch as she begins to put it back together again.

“Do you think you’re good enough for Carmilla?”

“Now, yes.” You answer without thinking.

“So you didn’t always think you were.” She’s moving faster now and you wonder how many times her practiced hands have put this puzzle back together after every time it was broken down. “Did you change the composition of your DNA since then? Travel back in time to change things from your past?”

You shake your head.

“You’re saying if I broke you down into pieces, your scientific components would more or less be the same as they were, say, in May?” She pauses. “Or in high school?”

You nod.

“And there’s your point.” She says, handing you the last piece of the puzzle to put into place. “You are the same person. If you’re good enough now, for Carmilla for anyone, you were always good enough and you always will be. All the pieces are still there.”

 

* * *

 

 _Carmilla. I don't think this is going to work out._  

You can't help yourself, you laugh. Honestly, you don't even know _why_ you do. Hysterics, maybe. You definitely don't find it _funny._

The fireworks are exploding behind you and you swear that if you look close enough you'll be able to see their reflection in Laura's eyes, so you take a step closer before you can even think twice about it.

It turns out, there _are_ fireworks in her eyes. But there's also pain and resolve and soon your hysterics turn into cold dread when you realize that she's not joking with you.

“You're being serious.” It brings a mixture of hope and confusion when she takes her own step towards you, the conflicting feelings that just seem to be attached to your relationship with Laura lately.

The thing is, you don't want to be confused anymore. And you don't want Laura to feel that way either.

“I'm sorry for making you believe that.”

Her eyes glint with something else and it breaks your heart when a tear slides down her cheek, soon followed by another and another.

“Laura.” Your hand moves to her waist and you try to find the words she needs to hear right now. But even more so, you try to find the words that will somehow explain everything you feel when you're with her, everything you know so deep in your heart but can't seem to be able to express when you need to.

The thing is, this isn't about placating Laura. This isn't about convincing her not to break up with you, though you certainly don't want her to do that. This is about building something _real._ Something that you can both share.

You've had shitty examples of relationships in your life and you know that Laura hasn't had it much better, but that's never kept you from believing that the two of you _should_ be together.

In every case, in every scenario, in every equation, it's _always_ you and Laura.

So you tell her that. “I have never been more confident in probabilities working than when I'm with you.” You let out a laugh at how _cheesy_ you sound, but you keep your gaze focused on her because the truth is, you don't care. You've thought a million times that you'd be a cliche if it meant being with her, and you've never been more committed to that thought than you are now. “Just - just tell me what you need from me and I'll give it to you.”

“I think we should break up.” She says again and this time it feels as if she's pushing harder against the nail that she already dug into your heart.

You grip her waist tighter as her name escapes your lips and you don't even care that it sounds like a plea when it does. You don't mind begging, not when it comes to Laura. “I'm not letting you break up with me over some dumb argument -”

“We're going to be have that _dumb_ argument most likely for the rest of our lives, Carmilla. _I'm not going to change.”_

It seems like something that would make any other person give up and walk away, but not you. Not when you've been around her for nearly two years, watching so closely as she went through one transformation after the other, learned to let go of things that didn't matter and cling to the ones that did.

You know that if anyone is capable of _change,_ that person is Laura Hollis.

And even if that wasn't the case - well, you'd still be in love with her anyway.

Which means there's no way you're giving up on her that easily.

“Sounds good to me.” You breathe out. You're scared, so _scared,_ but it's not because she might leave you. It's because you're about to put yourself out there in a way that you've never done before. “I'm in. I'll have that argument for the next sixty years with you.”

You've never meant anything more in your life than you mean those thirteen words and, when Laura grips your jacket and presses her mouth against yours, you think she _gets it._

And then somehow you're pressed against the closed door of her house and your hands are cupping her cheeks with her face just _so close_ to yours and you don't think you've ever loved her more than you do in that moment.

“Don't break up with me.”

“I never wanted to, I just - it hurt so much -”

“I'm sorry.” You say, because _you are._ There's been so much wrong lately, so many things that you would take it back if you could. So many ways that you've hurt her. “I shouldn't have pushed you-”

“No, there's something wrong with me, it's not your-” Laura interrupts you, gripping tighter on your jacket and pressing so close to you that you think you might get drown in everything that's _her_ soon.

So you pull back a little and you try not to lose yourself in Laura again. Because you both need to have this conversation and you know that if she kisses you again you might as well forget about that.

“I asked for too much. But-”

“You _did_ not.” She says, and the way her voice never breaks, never wavers has you slightly confused because that's always been your fear with Laura. You've always thought of her so fragile that just one push might have send her too far from you. “You asked for what you wanted. And I may not always want the same things, but don't ever apologize for that.”

Maybe that has been your mistake all along.

You've always been so mad at Laura's mother for leaving her and at her father for being so absent for so long that you thought you somehow had to make up for all that; protect Laura from all the pain she could ever face.

And by not realizing that she didn't need someone to protect her, you just ended up hurting her more.

Looking back at everything now, you think you finally understand.

“How about we talk, hmm?” She asks, and you want to laugh at how it's taken you so long to reach such a simple solution.

“It won't be fun for either of us, but we can make a game of it or something.”

“I'll show you what I learned from my therapist."

You can't help it, “I really hope you don't mean that sexually -”

“Carmilla.” Laura laughs, and you feel your chest growing lighter at the sound of it. She tugs on your hand. “Just follow, okay?”

Yeah, that's not something she needs to ask.

You bring your other hand to her face and run your thumb against her forehead. A part of you - a _big_ part - wants to cup her cheeks and bring your lips to hers, but you know there'll be time for that later. Right now, you just want for all of Laura's worries to go away.

“Thank you.”

“Wouldn't want you to get wrinkles early now, would I?”

You push yourself away from the door and you let her tug you towards the stairs. You remember how you felt coming here a week ago and the feeling of displacement hasn't really disappeared. Every step you take is cautious and insecure, but when Laura turns to you as she flicks a light switch - you make a note as the lights along the stairs turn on - it dawns on you that maybe this is how she felt when she first came over to your house. And now you couldn't think of her fitting there any better.

Maybe it's all just a matter of time.

//

Being in Laura's room while sober is a whole new experience and you find out as soon as you cross the doorway that isn't one you were particularly prepared for.

You thought spending so much time with Laura meant that you knew her fairly well, but now you realize that there's just _so much_ you've missed somehow.

When you imagined this room you thought of Laura back in high school: nerd tv shows and all kinds of memorabilia and you weren't exactly _wrong_ , but that's not what catches your attention.

No, while Laura is talking to you and you're mindlessly answering her, you notice _the pictures._

Everywhere. All over her room. From nature to landscapes to soccer and her teammates.

But most importantly, _of you._

“You have a picture of me on your desk?” You ask, trying to mask your surprise as you hold the picture frame.

She isn't even in the picture with you. In fact, you can't even remember the exact moment she took it, but if you'd venture a guess you'd say that it was taken quite some time ago.

“And on my nightstand, on my shelf, on my wall, and in my locker at the stadium.” She holds your gaze and you try your best to do the same but you can't help the curiosity as she starts to list the places where she's apparently kept you close to her. Your eyes shift towards the nightstand and you have to fight a blush at the picture of you, apparently leaning against your kitchen counter, a beer in hand and the hint of a smile on your face. You're wearing one of her jerseys and your hair is falling over your eyes and you just look _so happy_ that you kind of have a little trouble believing it's actually you for a moment. “You're a big part of my life, you know.”

You want to tell her that she's a big part of your life too but you don't quite trust your voice right now, so you just make your way to her bed and you sit next to her, still trying to figure out how exactly you fit into her space.

(You think maybe you have a better idea now.)

“So. Give me your right hand.”

You do so without hesitating and you raise an eyebrow when she arranges your hand in a _thumbs up_ and hooks her fingers against yours.

“It's easier to talk when you're doing something interesting with your hands.” She says and you really can't be blamed for the places your mind goes when she says things like that. “Oh come on, mind out of the gutter, Karnstein.”

“I didn't even say anything.” You huff, biting your lip to keep the smirk that's threatening to break on your lips. “I was only thinking of how big of a cheater you are because you _know_ I'm left handed.”

“It slipped my mind.” _Yeah, right._ “Besides, if I remember correctly, you're pretty capable with both hands.”

She just makes it _too_ easy.

“See, cutie, I don't think capable was what you were thinking when-”

She pins your thumb down and you cut yourself off as you focus on starting the game again.

“Carmilla.” She says in that tone that you know just means something like _focus._ “So. We fought, I said I wasn't ready-”

“I know. I was there. I was a dick about it. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry I was.”

You don't think it's worth much, actually. _Yes,_ you were dealing with your problems, but Laura is your girlfriend and you didn't have the right to dismiss her feelings like you did. Not when she'd been so understanding and supportive of your decisions when you asked her for some time.

But you can't bring back the past and you can only learn from it, so that apology and the unspoken promise that you'll do better is all that you can offer her right now.

“Apology accepted.”

When you say _Thank You,_ you hope that she understands how much you actually mean it.

“Right so yeah, fight and me not being ready.” She continues. “Do you want to know why I wasn't?”

That's not even a question.

“You talk like there are things about you that I don't want to know.” You mutter, and you let a heavy sigh when she manages to disentangle her thumb from yours. “But yes, I'd be lying if I said I don't need the explanation to understand all of this.”

“When my mother left, all the neighbours knew.” She shifts closer to you and you're so shocked she's willingly bringing the subject of her mother that you forget you're supposed to be playing a game with her. “They felt sorry for me and my dad. They brought over food a lot. It felt weirdly like attending my own funeral.”

Laura wastes no time getting into her story and you can't even help being more charmed by her once you realize that _of course_ she's using a soccer analogy to explain her feelings to you. It makes something grow heavy in your heart as you think of how much hurt she's been through, how much she second-guessed herself and how much you don't ever want her to feel like that again.

You pretend to be focused on trying to pin her thumb down as Laura's words wash over you, but you feel as if everything that she felt is being imprinted into your brain - a reminder of everything that you don't want her to _ever_ go through again.

“ - so that I can spend the rest of my life getting better at it. Sixty years, give it or take.”

You look up at her then, game completely forgotten.

“You weren't sure how serious I was about you.”

She shakes her head and _God,_ you don't even understand how you two managed to make things so messy.

“I'm sorry, I should have said. But I thought showing you was enough.” You want to say it now. _I love you._ But despite your need to make her understand what you feel, you don't think that's quite the moment for that yet. Which it’s probably just another way of the universe screwing you up.

“That's not your fault, I should have just applied for the damn scholarship to begin with but I was scared of being rejected.” There's a bitter amusement in the fact that she even thought of that as a possibility. “I didn't want to say anything, before, because it felt a lot like telling people I've been accepted to university on a scholarship when in reality I hadn't even worked up the guts to apply for it.”

“But now?” You ask, and there's that hopefulness again.

With the way she smiles at you, you think it's justified, though.

“You kind of handed me that lifetime scholarship earlier.”

You did. And you'd hand many more if she needed you to, but with everything that's happened and everything she's told you, you realize one thing now.

She doesn't have to prove anything to you. And so you tell her that.

“Thank you. And maybe I'm not ready for rooftops quite yet, but I can stand up in tables. And I can scream really loud.”

You wonder if there's a possibility that you'll start floating off this bed with how light you feel.

“That I know.” You laugh. This girl. “I'm sorry it took me this long to get it and that you hurt a lot before I figured it out.”

“You hurt too.” She says, and yeah, you know. But you'd hurt yourself a million times if it meant Laura didn't have to go through that.

She moves to brush some hair out of your eyes and you lean into her touch just like a moth drawn to a flame. “And you were dealing with things. We can talk about that now. Or later, but we _are_ talking about it at some point.”

You can't even think of the possibility of _not_ talking about that. It seemed hell when you first had to deal with it, but now you can't help the bitter thought that things could've been a lot better if you had Laura with you when you were trying to deal with your siblings.

You guess it's yet another lesson you needed to learn the hard way.

//

When the door to Laura's house opens and you realize it's her dad, panic sets in.

You try to hold onto Laura's words from earlier, how she told you that _she can do this,_ but there's a still a small part of you that dreads the idea this might be just a side effect of the bubble you're currently living in and that it'll somehow blow up when other people are actually around.

And then you want to smack yourself over the head because, even if that's the case, even if Laura _isn't_ ready, you understand now. And you can wait as long as she needs to, because you know that you don't want to be sharing your moments with anyone else, it doesn't matter if you have to do so in the privacy of your apartment for the rest of your life.

_Sixty years._

But then - she doesn't move.

Instead, she keeps her face pressed up against your neck and she pulls you closer to her by the waist, and you think it might be possible that your heart will beat out of your chest when she reassures you that it's _okay._

You don't deserve a girl like Laura Hollis. And you probably never will, really. But damn if you won't hold onto her for as long as she'll do the same to you.

(And if that's sixty years, all the better.)

“There you are.” Coach Hollis says as he walks into the kitchen and you don't have a mirror anywhere close to you but you just _know_ your face is a ridiculous shade of red. “Hey, Karnstein.”

You think he probably notices that, if the little twist on the side of his lip is any indication.

God, you're gonna be working on your backchecks _forever_ now.

“Coach.” You manage to speak out, though anything else past that like a simple _Happy New Year_ dies on your throat, which only seems to amuse him further.

He tells Laura he is looking for his deck of cards just as the kettle goes off and - though you instantly miss her warmth against you - you're glad Laura steps away to turn off the stove.

You busy yourself emptying the cocoa packets into the mugs you'll be using and the lack of eye connection makes it easier for you to at least say something without wanting to dig hole in the ground so that you can disappear away from Coach Hollis’ knowing smirk.

You don't think you might be able to look him in the eye when school gets back.

You keep your attention focused on the _serious_ task of stirring your cocoa, but once the door closes and you're alone with Laura again, you can't help the question that leaves your lips.

“That wasn't so bad?”

Sure, you're probably gonna be skating more laps than the team now, but you figure that's a small price to pay for the knowledge that your girlfriend’s dad found her wrapped all over you in his kitchen and you lived to tell the tale.

All in all, you could have a whole lot worse.

“No.” She agrees, and you want to kiss her for the thousandth time when she drops more marshmallows into your cocoa. “Not a bad start.”

But that's all it is. A start. And Laura has been doing all the talking, so you figure it's time you get on with it too.

You try to find the best way to start, try to arrange and rearrange the events of the last few months in your brain but, in the end, there's not really a way you can beat around the bush.

So you decide you might as well just get on with it.

“So Will is here. He ran away from home.”

And then you're telling her everything and once it's all out in the open you just can't find a single reason as to why you didn't just do this in the first place. The idea of talking to Laura had been so scary back then. You thought you could just keep her without actually acknowledge the things that had been going on in your life, but you'd been _so stupid._

Because Laura is a big part of your life. You share so much with her on a daily basis, this shouldn't have been any different, you realize that now.

“I'm sorry.” You apologize. You think you might have to do that over and over again until you reach a point where it's actually enough for all that's happened.

But, of course, that's not how things work with Laura.

“Water under the bridge.” She reassures you.

A chuckle escapes your lips. “What's the capacity of that body of water and how high is this bridge?”

“It's a river.” She gives you a cheeky grin, waving you off. “It runs through.”

The way her eyes glint when you smile at her has your heart hammering in your chest.

And when she says _You know you can tell me everything, right?_ you immediately think of three words that you just can't wait to share with her.

//

Laura kisses you as soon as you close the door to her room.

“I missed you.” She says, and you know it has nothing to do with being with you _physically_ and everything to do with the huge chasm that had grown between the two of you in the last few months.

You thought you'd been getting closer to her, but in reality you'd only been pushing her away and it took almost losing her for you to realize that. 

It doesn't take a genius to realize that she probably feels the same way about everything that's happened.

But things are _better_ now. Not perfect, you know, not by a long shot. But everything is out in the open and you still have her in your arms, so you think that everything will be okay. _Actually_ okay, and not the kind of okay where you pretend nothing is going on and you just hope it'll all somehow miraculously work out.

You're both willing to work for this now, _together._

“I'm sorry again.” You tell her, pushing a strand of hair behind her year and cupping her cheek. You think of how badly you wanted to kiss her earlier and so you do that.

The way she smiles into the kiss melts your heart.

“I told you,” she says against your lips and you love the way the vibrations of her words feel against your skin. “It's water under the bridge.”

You kiss her again.

It hasn't been long since you last been with her, but when her hands slip under your shirt and she wastes no time pulling it off and discarding it on the ground, something feels _different._

You've always thought the two of you fit perfectly together, but there's always been something on the surface, something that kept you from _being_ Laura’s.

It's only now that you realize your fear of pushing her away - of doing too much, _asking_ too much - prevented you from fully giving yourself to her as well.

And you don't want to do that anymore.

You're done being scared when it comes to Laura.

“This okay?” You ask when your hands reach the clasp of her bra.

“ _Carm._ ” She lets out a breathy laugh before she reaches over your hands and undoes the clasp for you. “It's more than okay.”

You remember back in that tent, when you first had Laura all to yourself. You remember how scared you felt, how everything was _so new_ and you didn't even know where to start learning everything there was for you learn about her. About her body.

You've had a lot of practice since then.

And still - still feels like this is your first time with her.

It's like your mind has drawn a blank in all the roads and paths you mapped in your brain.

You have a chance to learn her all over again. And this time, with nothing holding you back.

She's _yours._ And you're hers. There's no place where you could ever belong other than Laura's arms.

“What are you doing?” Laura asks you, and you realize that your hands have stilled on her hips and you're only staring at her.

You probably could stare at her forever, if you're being honest.

“Memorizing you.”

And _God,_ you are. You don't want to ever forget how she feels under your touch.

“Baby,” Laura brings one of your hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. “You're gonna have sixty years to do that, remember?”

“Sixty years.”

“I told you I'm holding you to that.”

A laugh escapes your lips and Laura swallows it into a kiss.

“I hope that you do.”

She nods and hums and then she's pushing you on her bed and you're forgetting everything about maps and roads because Laura now seems intent on memorizing _you._

She's quick to make work of your clothes and you think of how funny it is that you can learn so much about someone over and over again and never get enough of them.

You wonder if Laura feels the same way about this as you do, if she thinks this is any different than all the other times you've been together. If she can feel the way your heart is pushing against your ribcage and your stomach is swirling with desire.

You wonder if she realizes that this is the barest you've ever been with her, that you're not holding back anymore, that after this, she might as well carve her name on your skin because you'll be hers forever.

No turning back.

When she slips her fingers inside of you and her name falls from her lips like a prayer, you think maybe she does.

And later on, when she's the one riding your fingers and her fingers are digging into your skin with how tightly she's holding onto you, you think that, yeah - maybe she does feel the same.

Words are good and all, but some things - some things can't be said. Some things need to be _shown._

So you do. You show each other. All night long.

//

You wake up before Laura and you take that time to fully take in the little details of her room.

Last night, you'd noticed the pictures all over the room, but you hadn't actually noticed that they were basically Laura's version of a wallpaper and that at least two walls and a good ¾ of a third one were covered in it.

You slowly disentangle your body from hers so that you can take a closer look at it, and you can feel your jaw drop once you do.

It's like a timeline, somehow. There's nothing that explicitly indicates that, but you've spent enough time in your life solving math problems to be able to find patterns and connections when there are apparently none and Laura's pictures are just _so clear._

When you think back to your time in high school and beginning of college, the nature photos just make so much sense. Always there, through summer and winter.

And then the change on the second wall, so close to the ceiling. Soccer, Perry and LaFontaine, even her dad. And you. So many pictures you hadn't even realized she'd taken, so many moments captured perfectly, preserved forever as a memory that she'd made sure to keep close to her.

That she'd brought to the one place that's always been _hers._

And that she shared with you probably before you even step foot in it.

There's no way you can fight the tear that rolls down your cheek when all of this dawns on you.

Just as there's no way you can stop yourself when you press a soft kiss to her forehead and you whisper an _I love you, Laura Hollis_ against her skin, because you don't think you're physically capable of keeping that inside after everything you just saw.

She doesn't stir, not even as you open the door and quietly slip out, but you don't mind.

You'll be brave enough to tell her that again soon.

//

Coach Hollis is leaning against the kitchen counter when you cross the threshold and you have to force your feet to take another step once he notices you're in the room.

“Morning, Coach.”

He chuckles. “You don't have to call me that when we're not at practice, _Carmilla._ ”

Technically you know that, but the idea of calling him anything else just feels weird.

You give him a helpless shrug.

“We'll work on that, I guess.” He nods towards the oven. “I just heated some water, you can help yourself to it.”

“Thanks, Coach.” You cringe once the words are past your lips but Laura's father only shakes his head at you and takes another sip of his coffee.

He doesn't say anything as you go about the process of filling two mugs of cocoa for you and your girlfriend, and you're thankful for that. If you had been embarrassed last night, with only Laura hugging you, you can't even begin to explain how you feel standing here with him in his daughter's pajama after all the things you spent the night doing to her and what you've just told her moments ago.

You honestly hadn't quite considered this aspect of spending time at Laura's house.

(Maybe being at your apartment all the time wasn't quite so bad.)

“Hey, Carmilla.” He calls out once you're walking back to the room, after had muttering something that not even you could really make sense of it.

“Coach?” Yeah, that's not a habit you're gonna be dropping anytime soon.

“Take care of her, yeah? I know I don't actually have to tell you this -” he shrugs. “But I'm her father.”

You open your mouth to say something - though you don't actually know _what_ \- but he interrupts you before you even manage to mumble something or another.

“Actually,” he focuses his gaze on you and you're suddenly reminded of every single moment of your life that Coach Hollis has ever been a part of. “Take care of each other. I wouldn't like to see either of you hurting.”

In this moment, you can't be more grateful to him. Not for his words, not really, but for all that he's done for you, all the goals he’s helped you achieve, all the losses he's taught you how to cope.

But most of all, you're grateful for the fact that he's the reason why you have Laura.

For better or for worse, his actions have brought the both of you to this moment, and it's only when he raises his mug to you and gives you a small nod that you realize if he can make amends for all the wrong steps he took and all the mistakes he's made, you can too.

And that if he can trust on you not to hurt his daughter, then maybe you can give him the benefit of the doubt as well.

//

Going back to your apartment after almost a whole day at Laura’s house feels a lot like waking up from a dream.

One of those where you try to go back to sleep just so that you can stay in it for a little while longer, try to hold on to that feeling for as long as you can.

Eventually you need to wake up and face reality, though, and to you that means coming home to an empty apartment that might as well be as much Laura's as it is yours at this point.

(A lot like your heart, actually.)

She promised you she would be over later and you _did_ tell her that you needed to get some actual sleep and that wasn't likely to happen with her around, but still. It's ridiculous how much you miss her already.

You've been replaying the last twenty four hours on a loop in your mind and you still can't quite believe all that you've learned in so little time. You thought that you couldn't love Laura anymore than you already did, but of course she decided to prove you wrong yet again.

You don't think you'll ever stop being surprised by her

What isn't surprising, however, is that - when your head hits the pillow and your eyes slip shut - Laura is the one thing that takes over your dreams.

//

You wake up to the sound of someone relentlessly buzzing at the intercom. The year has barely started and there's already a possibility that you might kill someone.

“ _What?_ ” You bark.

“Happy New Year to you too, darling.” Mattie's voice greets you through the line. “Let us in.”

“Us? Who's us?”

“Jesus,” Will’s voice comes through this time. “You're supposed to be the smart one in the family.”

You press the button to unlock the door. “I hate you two.”

They take a few minutes to get to your apartment and you rush to the bathroom to wash the sleep out of your face and change into something more presentable - or rather just put some pants on - while they do.

“What are you doing here?” You ask them just as Will closes the door behind them and Mattie makes her swift way to the kitchen - she has a paper bag in her arms and she immediately starts unloading items of food on your counter.

“William thought it would be a good idea for us to have a family lunch.” She says. “Start the year right.”

That actually surprises you.

“You did?”

He shrugs. “I figured you'd done a lot to make things right and I didn't exactly make it easy on you.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You roll your eyes, taking two steps to flick him against the head.

“Anyway,” he glares at you. “New year, right? New beginnings, or whatever.”

Mattie laughs. “That's so very eloquent of you, William.”

He rolls his eyes at Mattie, but moves to her side to help with whatever they've decided you're gonna cook today and you can't help but take a moment to watch them.

You've done this same thing so many times before, back when things were easier and there wasn't so much history between the three of you.

After you left and lost contact with them you never thought you'd ever be able to have a moment like this again.

You never thought you'd ever reach a point in your life where you'd be _so happy._

“So,” you clear your throat, moving to take your long-time assigned place at the chopping board. “Do you think we could do this again soon? There's someone I'd like you both to meet.”

Mattie glances at you, “Would that _someone_ happen to be Laura?”

“So you _are_ dating her?” Will asks as he pops open a bottle of wine. He turns to Mattie then, a smug smile on his lips. “Pay up, _darling_.”

Of course they bet on this. _Of course._

You huff. “Did I tell you how much I hate you two today?”

Mattie rolls her eyes, but Will only grins.

“Yeah, yeah. We love you too, sis.”

//

When classes come back, you feel lighter than you have in _years._

You've spent your last few days of winter break with Laura, your friends and your siblings and you don't recall a moment when life has ever been so easy.

There's just something special about getting to know someone you thought you already knew, especially to a person who craves knowledge like you do.

You thought you'd be able to solve the equation of your life if you managed to find _x, y_ and _z_ , thought that it was all it came down to, but you'd been so wrong.

It wasn't a single equation. It never had been. It was one problem after the other, variables you needed to discover and solutions you needed to find. And you thought that if you could just get something right everything else would somehow find its way, but you realize now that this isn't how it works.

And that's the beauty of it, really.

Some equations can't be solved. But that doesn't mean you give up on them altogether, because one day you might just wake up and see something you hadn't seen there before. So you just keep going, one day after the other, trying every method you can to make it work.

Because when it does? There's no feeling like it.

And right now you feel like you just got to look at your life's equation in a whole new way that you simply couldn't before.

//

You're at Starbucks with Laura a few days into the new semester and you're half convinced she's about to blow a fuse with how fast she's going on about school being _awful._

She's already gone through a cookie and a half while reviewing your Philosophy paper - you remember how Rupinder raised an eyebrow in concern once you went to get the second one - and you're sure she might actually try to go for the third one soon if you don't manage to stop her somehow.

“Why do you hate it so much?” You ask, hoping that she won't bite your head off for the question.

You think maybe the combination of Laura, philosophy, and sugar isn't exactly a good one.

(There's no denying she looks incredibly cute with her face all scrunched up in frustration, though.)

“I’m not interested in my classes this semester. Nor am I any good at them.” She says, clicking on some keys on your computer. “It’s kind of horrible.”

You can't really relate to this now because you love all of your classes, but you do recall your days back in high school with all the compulsory credits you just _had_ to take so that you'd graduate.

The good thing is, college is not like that.

“Change majors, then.” You tell Laura, because that's something she _can_ do.

You remember having to get creative to avoid classes you had no patience for in high school while still filling all the credits you needed to graduate, but there's no reason why Laura should stick to something she doesn't like, especially considering that this is just a stepping stone until the _actual_ degree she's pursuing.

“It's not that simple.”

Only it _is_ and there's no way you're about to let Laura spend years of her life being miserable over her career choice just because she thinks she doesn't have a choice in the matter.

So you tell her that.

If there's one thing you've realized - particularly in the last month - is that things don't have to be complicated.

And that particular lesson is something that you're trying your best to apply to your life now. You've always tried your best to be honest with Laura, but now you realize that things go _beyond_ only speaking the truth when it's convenient.

Living life without complications means speaking up when you want something and saying _no_ when you don't. It means keeping close what's important to you and letting go of what it isn't. But most of all, it's about knowing how to make those decisions.

And sometimes, you need help.

So if Laura isn't happy with her classes, you can't think of a single reason why she should stick to them. And you realize that she hates giving up on things just about as much as you do, but you learned that sometimes you need to let go of some things in order to achieve something better.

“ - I don't want to be pushy about this, too,” you tell her, though you damn well _will_ if it means that she'll be happier in the end. “But I care about your future.”

And you do. Probably more than you care about your own, if you're being honest. 

“Yeah.” She tells you, reaching for your hand. When her gaze meets yours, you have to remind yourself to take a deep breath because she's just _so beautiful._ “So do I.”

You blush when you realize the meaning of her words, and in that moment, you're absolutely sure of two things:

  1. You love Laura Hollis.
  2. And Laura Hollis loves you.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ask blog](http://bsau-asks.tumblr.com/)   
>  [tams](http://itmustbebunnies.tumblr.com)   
>  [celina](http://patsiewalker.tumblr.com)


	22. Interlude IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papa Hollis POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the wait. Thank you for always being patient with us!

You think it's gotta be some sort of cosmic joke that the first day you happen to see Carmilla Karnstein out on the ice is the same day your wife walks out on you and your daughter.

//

There's no pretending that you're innocent.

It hasn't been your choice, you hadn't pushed her away, but you know that maybe you could've made things easier for your wife. Maybe if you'd done something different, she wouldn't have felt the need to leave - she wouldn't have felt the need to _abandon_ both you and Laura in the cruel way that she did.

And you knew this. You knew it because you kept replaying it over and over again in your head, thinking of all the things you should've said, all the things you should've done, all the different plays that you somehow missed and ended in the biggest loss of your life.

You're not innocent. You've known this all along.

You just didn't realize that by trying to find a reason, by trying to explain why it all happened, you'd be making a mistake far worse than she ever did.

Because she left.

And you? You didn't even had to walk out the door to break your daughter all over again.

//

It's mindless at first.

The extra hours at work, the more time spent watching videos from old games, the afternoons watching the high school team practice.

They're not even your team, but you can't help yourself.

There's something in the way that Carmilla Karnstein moves across the ice that helps you convince yourself that you're doing something _useful,_ that you're not just missing your daughter’s game because you're a bad father.

When you see fierce determination in the eyes of a girl that one day might be the one leading your own team to victory, you think maybe Laura understands.

And maybe she doesn't hate you as much as she hates her mother.

(You stayed, right? That has to count for something.)

//

“The championship game is this weekend.” Laura says one day, over the untouched cup of coffee that you'd settled for her before she even entered the kitchen.

She never touches her drink.

You keep pouring it anyway.

“Laur-” you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose as you do your best not to look at her.

It's not your fault, not really. She just looks _so much_ like her mother. A constant reminder of all the mistakes you've made, all the mistakes you _keep_ making. It's like the guilt is eating you alive, and you still can't get away from it.

“I know.” She bites out. “You can't come. I just figured you should know.”

You nod, but you can't find the words to say anything.

//

You're walking out of a hockey practice the next week when you see something big and clearly new glinting from the high school’s trophy case.

_1st place._

_Captain Hollis._

You want to say that you're proud, but you're not sure that's exactly what the bitter feeling in your throat tastes like.

//

It becomes clear during your first practice of the summer that Carmilla Karnstein is a force to be reckoned with.

She's also blunt and has clearly no intention of biting her tongue over anything or anyone, and you're not surprised that it's hard for her to settle nicely with her teammates.

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if that's what your actions have made of Laura too. Cold and distant.)

//

After a while, things become easier.

(Not perfect, not by a long shot.)

Your relationship with Laura becomes more and more strained everyday, but you manage to convince yourself that maybe that's the way that life goes.

She's in college now - with a full scholarship that she didn't really need, considering you're a part of the university's faculty - and between classes, practices and games, it's not like there's much time for the two of you left anyway.

She's growing up, and that's good.

(Or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.)

Your team is also doing better.

Carmilla seems to have mellowed, for some reason. You remember the way she left one Friday after losing the last game before New Years - all angry and frustrated - only to come back to the next practice actually _talking_ to her teammates, instead of just glaring at them.

She's not a nice person, not by any stretch of the imagination, but you're not one either, so you think maybe there's a mutual respect between the two of you and that's more than you have with your own daughter at this point, so you figure you can't really complain.

//

You try to ignore the fact that the rate in which your relationship with Carmilla seems to improve is directly proportional to the rate in which your relationship with Laura seems to - well, if you're being blunt, _go to shit._

//

Communication with Laura has become a tricky thing over the years.

You tell yourself that you try - and sometimes you can even _believe_ that - but you know that most of what she does these days is only meant to placate you.

A part of you - a huge part, actually - wants to believe that you're _fine._ That you're just two people who changed a lot and maybe these kinds of things happen even in families, but you notice the way she flinches away from your touch, the way she rarely - if ever - shares her meals with you or even tells you anything about her day.

But you pretend that everything is okay anyway, because what else can you do?

You’ve already ruined her too much.

//

It's the championship game of freshman year when everything changes.

//

When you see Carmilla falling to the ice, blood slipping from the cracks of her helmet and her knee bent in an unusual angle, you feel your heart catching in your throat.

It's like you're having a heart attack twice over.

The first one comes when you take in the sight of your best player lying so still she might as well be dead.

You remember the scrawny girl that you watched grow into the young woman that plays for you today - the angry teenager that somehow found herself under your watchful gaze and guidance - and your hands are shaking before you can even take a step towards her.

But it's the second heart attack that hits you the worst, when you glance out to the stands to see Wilson Kirsch trying to make his way to Carmilla’s body and your eyes catch a glimpse of your own daughter - eyes wide and scared under the million glaring lights of the arena.

You think of what would have happened to you if instead of Carmilla, _Laura_ had be the one lying motionless on the cold ice.

(It's the worst thought you've ever had in your life.)

//

You're the one who calls the ambulance.

Kirsch slips in with you before you can even think to protest - you wouldn't, anyway - and he's the one who insists on you going home once Carmilla is rushed to surgery and the doctors disappear behind swinging doors and looming hallways.

You're so busy focusing on the stain of blood that somehow clinged to your shirt that you don't notice that the young boy has left and someone else has taken his place next to you.

“Is she going to be okay?” Laura asks, and you're so shocked by her presence that for a moment you don't even recognize her voice.

“They don't know yet.” Is all you say.

You glance at her and she's wringing her mittens together and you want to pull her in a hug and keep her safe with you forever.

But then you remind yourself that the time for that has passed and that's not who you both are anymore.

So you nod your head and you fall into a very uncomfortable - albeit familiar - silence; the one you never thought you'd share with the young girl who used to jump on your back and demand piggy-back rides from you whenever she needed to move somewhere.

But that was then.

Now - well, now she doesn't need you at all.

//

You first notice something is different when Laura leaves for her run holding two bottles of water instead of her usual one.

There's no way you can even deny your surprise when you glance out the window to see that it's _Carmilla_ who's standing outside, doing something you've never actually thought you'd get to see her doing again.

You'd asked her how therapy was going and she only said _it's going_ instead of any development, so you're pretty sure this means she still isn't allowed back on the ice and you can practically see it on her face how much she's annoyed by this predicament, but you can't even sympathize with that, not really.

She's _alive_ and that's more than you had hoped for when you saw her all bent and broken back in May.

You figure you can let her have those moments with Laura, though.

Maybe it'll do more good for the both of them than you ever could.

//

You miss the first soccer game of the season.

(It's not a surprise that Laura isn't at the stands when your team hits the ice.)

//

The next time she asks, you say you can't and you wonder if the lie is as obvious to her as it is to you.

You also wonder if Laura actually means it when she says that she understands why you can't come.

Maybe those lies are all you two have left of each other.

//

You think maybe Christmas only serves as yet another opportunity life has of throwing your own shortcomings back on your face.

It’s a family holiday but you and Laura haven’t been much of _that_ for a while now and it just seems to grow even worse when you’re supposed to be celebrating something.

Still, though, you try your best. It’s not much these days, not after all that’s happened and all the days you just couldn’t even handle the sight of Laura’s eyes - so alike her mother’s - gazing at you, but you it’s _something._

(Or so you hope, anyway.)

You buy Laura a jersey with the name of who you think is her favorite player stamped on the back and you cook dinner for the both of you, but once the time comes for you to sit down and share a meal with her, it’s like you can’t push enough words past your lips to even hold a proper conversation.

She probably thinks you don’t care and, at this point, you just don’t know how to even go about showing her that you _do._

The thing is, how do you go about fixing something when it just looks broken beyond repair?

//

Keeping track of things has never really been your strong suit, so it isn’t a wonder that you forget your phone and your wallet lying around more often than you can account for.

Your wife used to tease you about it when you first got married and then she’d just make sure you had all things stacked in one place before you left the house - just to make it easier - but then she _left_ and it all got worse than it was before.

And then one day you get home to find five missed calls on your phone and Laura sitting on the living room couch with her foot in a walking boot and you think maybe it’s time you get a hold of yourself, because you can’t keep justifying your carelessness with the important things in your life as something that _just happens._

Maybe there are things you can’t fix.

It doesn’t mean you have to break them even more.

//

When you get the news that Carmilla is being allowed to play again, you feel as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders but it has nothing to do with having your best player back and all to do with the sight of Laura in a walking boot for over two weeks.

You hadn’t realized what it meant for Carmilla not being able to skate. In fact, you hadn’t much cared about it, to be honest. You were just glad she was alive and it sucked that she couldn’t just go back to scoring goals all the time, but that took _time,_ right? It was just adding to the ever-growing list of things in life you had to accept.

(And you should know about that - you’d been _accepting_ a lot, lately.)

But then you got to witness how your own daughter felt without being able to run and do what she loved to do, and it finally dawned on you what it was all about.

You don’t think you ever quite understood what soccer meant for Laura. Honestly, you never _tried_ to understand. You just figured it was best to let her do her thing and that she would be fine as long as you kept your nose out of it, because Laura had a tendency to relate the important things in her life to the people around her and you didn’t want for her to lose soccer if things were to ever go bad between the two of you, the way she lost everything else when her mother walked away.

And things _did_ go bad. So at least she still had that.

But during those two weeks, you got to see exactly how Carmilla must have felt in her months of recovering and it all made sense in your head. Just like a lightbulb going off, eureka!

It’d never been about the game, it’d never been about the championships and trophies.

It was about loving something and being scared to lose it in the worst way possible.

(And you could relate to that.)

//

Laura is in the stands when Carmilla skates onto the ice for the first time in almost an year and you see her cheering with Kirsch when your number 13 scores the winning goal of the game.

You think the feeling in your chest when the buzzer sounds to signal the end of the game is a lot like those times in your life when you still knew what hope felt like.

//

_“You can say all you want about missing shots you don’t take but it clearly doesn’t mean anything to you if you’re missing chances to be with her because of —”_

Carmilla’s words echo on your brain on a loop from the moment she walks out of your office to the minute you get home to find Laura doing homework on the kitchen table, a cup of tea sitting in front of her.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so angry in your life.

But then thing is - you’re not mad at Carmilla. You’re mad at _yourself._

You’re mad because she’s right. Your wife walked out on you and your daughter, and instead of manning up and being the father figure Laura needed you to be - instead of _being there_ for her - you just chalked it all up to it being _life_ and you did nothing about it.

And it took a 19 year-old throwing all this on your face for you to realize how majorly you’ve screwed everything up.

All this time, you’ve somehow managed to convince yourself that Laura didn’t need you. And yeah, maybe she doesn’t. You can see how much she’s accomplished in her life and you didn’t have anything to do with that, but that’s not the point. The point is, she _shouldn’t_ have gone through all of this by herself. She should be able to rely on her father when she needed, instead of leaving missed calls on your phone because you couldn’t get a hold of your life enough to keep your phone on you at all times.

When you held Laura in your arms for the first time, you promised that you’d never let any harm come to her.

You promised that you’d be there to soothe every wound and wipe every tear, even when she didn’t need you to do that anymore.

_“You miss all the shots you don’t take.”_

And you swore you’d take all the shots with Laura.

(God, you’re such a hypocrite.)

//

Laura playing is - it’s _incredible,_ there’s no other way for you to put it.

You’ve been a hockey coach for over half of your life and you don’t understand soccer as well as that, but you know what being a captain means. And you know that talent alone isn’t enough to guarantee a position like that, it’s about knowing what’s best for your team and how to make them get there.

In ninety-minutes, you get a glimpse of a Laura that you don’t actually know. She’s been your daughter for almost twenty years and, right then, it feels as if you’re holding that baby in your arms again. There are so many things to learn, so many possibilities. So many things you’ve missed, but so many others that you can still find out.

It feels like starting over.

//

When Laura walks to your car after the game is over, you take in the wet hair falling over her shoulders and the way she holds her chin a little higher the closer she gets to you and - for the first time in over three years - you don’t see her mother in front of you.

You see _Laura._

“Hey kiddo.” You say, and the smile you give her feels like the first honest smile you’ve given anyone in a long, long time.

She’s awkward around you, but you don’t blame her. You couldn’t, not really. You blame yourself and when she mentions Carmilla, that only drives the blame closer home.

You know that maybe you’ll never manage to make up for all the years that you’ve lost, but you’re willing to _try._ You’re willing to be a dad for her again, if she wants.

And if she doesn’t, that’s okay as well. It’s a chance you’re willing to take and you might as well start practicing what you preach.

//

It’s not easy at first.

You haven’t been Laura’s dad in a long time and it’s not something that just easily snaps back into place.

But you keep trying. Especially when you realize that, though Laura still doesn’t really know how to act around you, your conversations are not so stiff anymore and she’s willing to meet you halfway.

You’re just now realizing how much this affected Laura and you’re trying not to let the guilt eat away at you, but every time you look at her it just hits you again. Especially whenever Carmilla is around - which seems to be a lot, these days.

It’s ironic that you used to think your relationship with Carmilla improving was proportional to your relationship with Laura becoming worse, because now that you’re actually working on patching things up with your daughter it seems that you can’t even look Carmilla in the eye.

And it’s all to do with the fact that she was the one to actually call you out on all the bullshit you’d been pulling, but she probably _hates_ you and how can you even change that? You don’t want to be complacent, not anymore, but you don’t know how to work around that yet.

You have a feeling you’re gonna need to find a solution soon, though.

Especially if it means she’s gonna be around for a while.

(With the way she lingers close to Laura and her eyes don’t seem to ever focus anywhere else - you think she _might._ )

//

When you enter Laura’s room, for what feels like the first time in _forever,_ you feel the sudden need to hold onto something with the sight that meets your eyes.

You can’t exactly remember how photography became a thing. You weren’t the one to give her a camera - cellphones did the job just fine, right? - and you’re pretty sure your wife hadn’t been the one to do it either, because you’ve witnessed firsthand how your daughter tried - and succeeded - in continuously avoid everything that was ever relevant to that particular relationship, so you really don’t know.

But it happened somehow.

And she’s _good_ too, which doesn’t even surprise you at this point.

It’s not like Laura to do things half-assed.

You take your time to glance at her walls and you don’t miss that there’s a pattern to them. Right until about half of the second wall, when you catch a glimpse of soccer and her friends and, the most surprising of all, a couple pictures of _Carmilla._

But you don’t mention anything about that, and instead you focus on the trophies and what’s _safe._

The laughter that Laura gives you when you tell her that she once tried to eat a medal thinking it was a hashbrown is enough to make you forget everything that might possibly be happening between your daughter and your best player.

Because you realize then that you haven’t apologized to her. And, beyond everything else, you owe Laura an apology. You need her to know that you understand and you acknowledge your mistakes - that you have no plan of ever making them again.

You hate the feeling of Laura’s tears wetting your shirt and you hate that you’d been the one to cause them, but you think _this_ is healing.

This is moving on. Getting better.

Hopefully she won’t ever cry over your mistakes ever again.

//

Laura starts spending less and less time at home and it has nothing to do with your relationship and everything to do with whatever it’s going on between Carmilla and her.

You know your daughter is a lesbian. You’ve always known, really. It wasn’t something that Laura ever felt the need to tell you or your wife, it was something that just _happened._ She showed up with a girl in tow back in seventh grade and introduced her as her _girlfriend,_ which you quickly realize did _not_ mean her friend that was a girl.

The bigger shock was in how she handled that rather than who she decided to be kissing, really.

But it was never an issue.

(All the better considering you would never have to deal with an unplanned pregnancy because condoms weren’t a hundred percent successful.)

And the thing with Carmilla? Well. You heard the students talking. You tried to keep your ears shut because it was just _creepy_ to be listening to gossip about your player’s personal lives (and sometimes even Laura’s, which was all the worse, really) but you couldn’t pretend that you didn’t know she liked girls as well.

You had enough understanding of mathematics to realize what Carmilla plus Laura plus lots of time spent together meant. You’re not _dumb._

Laura hasn’t had a serious girlfriend in a long time - not after your wife walked away, and you try not to think of the implications of that - but you think maybe whatever it’s going on with them means you were right about your predictions of Carmilla sticking around and maybe you should make an effort to settle things with her as well.

So you tell Laura to ask her over.

You know she hasn’t told Laura about your little argument a few months ago - and you’re glad for that, because it means that you were able to work things out with Laura without the added stress of explaining that - but you also know that your daughter isn’t stupid. The glances she throws your way whenever Carmilla is around are enough to let you know that she’s aware _something_ is wrong.

And you need to make it better.

(You honestly hope you’re not about to make it all _worse_.)

//

It goes a thousand times better than you expect.

The idea that Carmilla might give up hockey has your mind flashing back to the weeks Laura spent without being able to play and her reaction to the news makes you think maybe she’s also considering how awful Carmilla would feel without hockey, but you take one glance at your best player and you realize that this is _different._

This isn’t Carmilla losing something because it’s been taken away from her. This is a choice. It’s her willingly giving it away, maybe because it’s not as satisfying anymore, maybe because she found better things to focus on.

Whatever the case, it’s not your choice to make, anyway.

You steer the conversation away from the topic, though you don’t miss the way Laura grows pensive for the rest of your conversation. It’s not her choice to make either, but you know your daughter enough to realize that she won’t let this go so easily.

She never could, and you think maybe this tendency of her to hold on to things is a lot stronger when it comes to Carmilla Karnstein.

//

To say that you’re not expecting an apology from Carmilla would be an understatement.

It comes out of left field and you’re more amused than anything else but, like with Laura, you quickly realize that you need to be honest with Carmilla too.

You think of everything that’s happened in your life since this young girl walked out on the ice that first game years ago and you can’t help but be glad for all that she’s done for both you and Laura.

You like to think that you’d have gotten your shit together eventually, found a way to atone for your mistakes if you didn’t have Carmilla to call you out on it.

But you’re not sure you would. So you can’t help but be glad that you have her around, annoying personality and all.

//

When Laura’s birthday rolls around, you’re a mess of nerves.

You and your wife used to get her breakfast in bed along with her first gift of the day back when she was younger and you sort of had made a tradition of it, right up until the moment her mother walked out and everything turned into a mess.

That hadn’t happened for the last three years. No, instead you’d just leave her present in her bed for her to find whenever she got home and she would do whatever she wanted with her friends.

It hurt, to watch years of memories slip away, but you’d just accepted it.

Unfortunately you can’t bring that back, but you want this year to be different. Maybe you can start new traditions, if the old ones are too painful.

So you do that. You settle things with Carmilla - because it doesn’t take a genius to know that Laura will want to spend time with her on her birthday - and you decide on dinner in a place of Laura’s choosing and it’s _good._

You can talk with her now and even make her laugh, and when you give her your present - it’s a camera, as opposed to the countless soccer jerseys you’ve gifted her over the years - the way that Laura’s eyes light up are enough to let you know that maybe you’re on your way to make things _right_ again.

You’d forgotten what it felt like to have a family.

It’s then that you realize how much you actually missed it.

//

Laura says she’s going camping with Carmilla and you just _know_ something is going on.

You’ve known for a while now, really. There’s no way to deny, not with the amount of time they spent together, the longing glances and the wearing-each-other’s-jerseys to games, but - for some reason - Laura still hasn’t told you about it.

It’s been months since you’ve first learned about Laura going to therapy and you think this has helped a lot when it came to fixing your relationship with her, but you’re scared that maybe your wife abandoning the both of you has left deeper scars into your daughter than anyone can help her recover from.

The idea that Laura might be keeping Carmilla at arm’s length for fear that she might leave breaks your heart, but it’s the idea that you can’t help her that makes it all worse.

You hate feeling helpless, especially when it comes to your daughter’s happiness.

//

When Laura starts spending more time at home than she does at Carmilla’s house, though, you think it’s time to do something about it, but it’s her refusal to come to the door when Carmilla is shows up holding a tupperware in her hands and a forlorn expression on her face that just settles the decision for you.

And yeah, maybe it’s not gonna work.

Maybe you have no experience whatsoever helping people in a professional level, but Laura is your _daughter._ You’ve already spent too much time not doing right by her. If this thing with Carmilla makes her happy, then you’re damn sure you’re not about to let her ruin it by being scared.

There’s too much to be lost.

//

_“Odds are no one will leave like her, pumpkin.”_

And it’s true. It took you a long time to realize that, but your wife had been the exception, not the rule.

It was a blow to your family, one you didn’t think you’d ever be able to recover from, but you _have._ It’s taken more time than it should have, yes, and you’ve made things worse when you should’ve been working to make them better, but you and Laura are getting there. _Together._

But being better means letting go of the past. And you know that your daughter hasn’t been able to fully do that yet. Not completely.

So when you tell her about shots and how you wouldn’t trust anyone more than her to take a shot, you’re actually not just spouting bullshit. You mean every word, every letter. Because Laura is all that you have left in this world, the most precious thing you’ve ever manage to have in your life.

It’s surprising - and at the same time, not at all - that there’s no one you’d think more deserving of her than Carmilla, but when you think about it, it just works.

You’ve seen how much they’ve grown together. How much they helped _you_ grow.

You don’t want for that to stop now. Not when you’ve all still got such a long way to go.

//

They work it out.

Or, at least, you think that’s what it means when Laura invites Carmilla over and they spend the entire dinner glancing at each other and hiding smiles behind their glasses.

Laura still hasn’t told you, though, so you keep your expression blank and you pretend that you don’t notice that they’d been holding hands under the table throughout the duration of your meal.

//

You see them kissing in the parking lot outside the school rink one night in October.

And then again in November when Carmilla is dropping Laura off and just before they start one of their morning runs.

It’s kind of amusing that your daughter would think they’re being _subtle,_ but you wait. Laura has had to overcome a lot of things, and if she’s taking her time with this, it’s only fair that you let her do it.

She looks happy. That’s more than enough for you.

//

When you see the knee sleeve you don’t even think twice before getting it for Carmilla.

You think back to a year ago when you couldn’t even talk to Laura as opposed to Carmilla and how now it finally looks as if your relationship with both of them is getting better.

You only wish they’d sort themselves and stop going from extremely happy to extremely sad.

(It’s starting to give you a whiplash, honestly.)

//

You can’t say that having your daughter’s girlfriend walking into your kitchen the morning after New Year’s Eve is quite how you hoped on finding out they’re together, but at this point, you’ll take what you can get, really.

Giving Carmilla is a speech about not hurting Laura is not necessary - you don’t think so, at least - but it’s only when you’re about to do that that you realize the idea of them hurting each other is far worse than only Carmilla being the culprit.

Laura is your daughter, yes, but Carmilla is important to you too. You’ve first met her during a hard time of your life and you’ve both went through a lot of changes in the years that followed, but - not for the first time - you can’t help but think of how it would all be if she hadn’t been around.

She changed both you and Laura - for the _best_ \- and you like to think that you’d done something for her too. That you helped her become the woman she is today, even if you’d probably annoyed her most of the time.

You think of how they both were a couple of years ago and how they both are now, and you’re so thankful for Carmilla Karnstein.

And you think Laura is too, especially when she finally comes around to tell you that they’re dating.

//

You miss all the shots you don’t take.

This has always been your motto during your years coaching hockey, but you’re not sure a lot of your players have actually grasped the concept of this - hell, you hadn’t yourself, up until a few months ago - and that’s okay, really.

Because you look at Laura and Carmilla, curled up on the far end of a bus packed with young girls, all lost in their own world, and you realized that maybe _they_ got it.

That’s legacy enough for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ask blog](http://bsau-asks.tumblr.com/)   
>  [tams](http://reythejedidame.tumblr.com)   
>  [celina](http://patsiewalker.tumblr.com)


	23. February - Junior Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka they love each other and they're no longer _that_ stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **e·the·re·al:**  
>  adj 1.  
>  _extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world._  
> 

Carmilla has to go away the first weekend of February for a series of games against a school a few towns over and you’re grumpy about it, but not as grumpy as she is.

“It’s two days.” You tell her, looping her scarf around her neck and tugging so that she isn’t so far away. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Three.” She mumbles. “You sure you can’t come?”

“Nope. I have a game and so do you.”

Carmilla sighs dramatically and you roll your eyes, but kiss her anyways. She starts smiling not even a second into it and not much more kissing gets done after that.

“I love it when you do that.” She says when you finally pull away from her mouth.

“What, kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, ‘cause I love doing it.” You step away from her so you can hand her her backpack. “Knock ‘em dead, babe.”

//

Jamie is sitting on the floor when you walk into her office after seeing Carmilla off for the weekend. She looks like she’s deliberating something.

“Hi.” You say, making yourself comfortable across from her.

“No need to get settled.” She says, a tight smile on her face. “I have homework for you today.”

You look at her, unsure whether or not you’re completely on board with the idea.

“You used to watch TV with your mother - “

“No.” You say, feeling your throat tighten just at the thought. “I’m not doing this.”

“Next week, I would like for you to bring a hundred word review of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ ’s episode twelve in season three.”

“Can’t we just-” You pinch at the bridge of your nose. “Make origami or something?”

“This isn’t all fun and games, Laura. You need to put in work - more work, really tough work - to continue making progress.” She leans forward and you are reminded of the first appointment you’d had with her. “A hundred words when you come in next Friday.”

Your gut churns at the thought of sitting through a show that had been so familiar to you when you were younger. It isn’t even the idea of _her_ bothering you anymore. It’s remembering what her aftermath had felt like.

Jamie is staring at you when you shake yourself out of your thoughts enough to be aware of your surroundings again.

“That’ll be all for today, Laura.” She says.

//

Without Carmilla or your father around, your Friday night shapes up to be more productive than you could have ever imagined. You finish all of your homework not even two hours after you get home from seeing Jamie and dinner takes less than ten minutes to prepare. You’re just about ready to eat what you’ve cooked for yourself when your phone buzzes on the countertop.

 

**Carmilla (7:13 P.M.):**

What’s cookin’ good lookin’?

**Laura (7:13 P.M.):**

i know you’re asking me what’s up

**Laura (7:13 P.M):**

but what has actually just finished cooking are two pieces of folded dough with pepperoni, cheese, and tomato sauce filling.

**Carmilla (7:15 P.M.):**

So… pizza pockets?

**Laura (7:16 P.M):**

you ruin all my fun

**Carmilla (7:16 P.M.):**

Your dad says hi.

**Laura (7:17 P.M.):**

Why are you with my dad?

**Carmilla (7:18 P.M.):**

Team dinner.

**Laura (7:18 P.M.):**

Fun!

**Carmilla (7:20 P.M.):**

Not really. What are you wearing?

**Laura (7:21 P.M.):**

go and have fun with your team, lady killer

 

Carmilla sends back a sad face emoji and you smile at it before locking your phone and depositing it back onto the counter so you can eat dinner. When you’re done with that, you keep yourself still for as long as you dare.

From where you’re standing, you can see the empty bottom row of the bookshelf in the living room. You’ve made a point of not allowing yourself to feel homesick for past versions of yourself, but you can’t deny how much you miss being fifteen, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of that shelf every afternoon after school, and feeling like everything you could ever want is just an arm’s reach away.

You can’t do it. What Jamie wants you to do. Not yet.

But you do spend the rest of the night digging through dusty boxes in the basement and re-stocking a shelf that has been far too empty for far too long.

//

By Sunday night, you are thoroughly bored of having a whole house to yourself. You’d invited LaFontaine and Perry over on Saturday and the three of you had spent the day baking and playing the old board games you had found in the basement. Perry is too good at Monopoly for it to be a competition and LaF is scarily amazing at Operation and so the three of you had played Trivial Pursuit and marveled at how terrible your collective knowledge is.

Your gut says that Carmilla would blow all of you and Google out of the water if you ever invited _her_ to play Trivial Pursuit. You make a note to, just because you’re horribly in love with her smug smile.

 

**Laura (11:30 P.M.):**

I miss you.

**Carmilla (11:31 P.M.):**

I’ll call you in 5

**Carmilla (11:31 P.M.):**

I miss you too

 

You send her back a heart. 

You’re not stupid. You know how she feels about you and you’re pretty sure she knows how you feel about her. _You’re not dumb_ and you now also know you aren’t as subtle as you like to think you are. She _knows._

It would also be accurate to say that the two of you are painfully aware nothing concrete has been said yet and absence _does_ make the heart grow fonder, so when Carmilla calls and you hear her voice for the first time in over forty-eight hours, you almost say it right then and there.

She sounds good, rested. As if she’s off on a vacation somewhere sunny and relaxing instead of a handful of hours on the interstate away. You suppose it makes sense that she’s loose and content. Hockey seems to do that to her.

You talk and you miss her more and more as the minutes pass. It makes no sense because it’s only been _three days_ and you’ve gone longer without seeing each other, but these past few weeks have made you feel like the two of you are on the edge of something together and you want to jump into it headfirst, but you need Carmilla there beside you. Not a bus ride away, but right beside you, in the middle of falling asleep, curled up with an arm under her head and a hand on your hip.

The mental image makes your throat itch and you’re about to interrupt her goodnight and goodbye when she just fucking _says it_ and then hangs up as if she hadn’t just punched you in the lungs and made it impossible for you to breathe.

You try to call her back, but you know her signal is probably spotty at best and when it goes to voicemail and you can practically hear the bored expression on her face, you just laugh your relief and delight and _love_ \- because that’s definitely what this is, what it always has been - into her answering machine.

//

It’s still early morning when you and Carmilla come back to her apartment. You’d picked her up from the rink’s parking lot and you still feel giddy in the wake of it all. She’s quiet and you’re content to hold her hand.

Eventually, you end up on your sides, facing each other. She has an arm folded under her pillow and a warm palm on your hip and the winter sun leaking through the blinds makes her look like she’s glowing. It’s perfect and you close your eyes, ready to sleep peacefully for the first time in three days.

“I didn’t realize that I said it.” She laughs softly. “Probably because I think it all the time. God, I’m thinking it now.”

You hum, “I definitely don’t mind it being said.”

She grins and lets her fingers hook into the hem of your shirt. She props herself up on her elbow and whispers the words across your skin, into your hair, against your lips. You wonder if it will ever stop sounding new to your ears.

Carmilla shuffles so that she’s snuggled directly against you once she settles down again and you crinkle your nose at her.

“You smell like bus, Carmilla.”

“You love it.” She returns easily.

You do.

//

“What are you doing on Saturday?” Perry asks as she does crunches beside you. On your other side, LaFontaine laughs.

“Carmilla.” They say, still snickering. You ignore them.

“I don’t know yet. Why?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Crap.” Between Carmilla being away and coming back, you’d honestly forgotten about it. “What are you doing?”

“Bowling.” The two of them say in unison.

You do your last two crunches in quick succession before letting your back hit the ground.

“We can double up.” Perry offers.

“No, it’s okay.” You lie on the grass for a minute, trying to catch your breath. “I’ll figure something out. What are you getting each other?”

Perry says _new lab goggles_ as LaF says _Mr. Clean Magic Erase_ and you laugh.

You don’t think you remember before when they weren’t _this_ for each other and not for the first time, you think you’d like you and Carmilla to be like that as well. Of course, sixty years is a lot of time for you to become so intertwined in each other’s lives that no one will be able to remember when you weren’t.

And _God,_ you’re too young and too damaged to be thinking _forever,_ but lying on the grass in between your two best friends and talking about Valentine’s Day, all you can think is that she’s _it._ So you stay a bit longer with LaF and Perry and there is no panic in your system about the upcoming holiday.

Planning one Valentine’s Day seems less daunting when you know you’ll have forever to make it perfect.

//

Carmilla’s legs are draped over your lap and her attention is turned to where her favorite team is losing terribly - she excused them from your criticism by saying that their superstar goalie is injured and that hockey is a hard game to play when you don’t have faith in your last line of defense and _just give them a break, Laura, it’s not like your favorite soccer team wins all the time_ , which, incorrect, they do - when you bring up Valentine’s Day.

“Shit.” Carmilla says. “I forgot. But you’ll like your present, I’m sure.”

“How do you know? You haven’t even gotten it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I never said I hadn’t gotten it.”

“Carmilla.” You huff, frustrated by the circles in which the conversation is going. “You literally just said you forgot about Valentine’s Day.”

“Bought it a while ago.” She says dismissively, turning her attention back to the screen just in time to see the opposing team score. “Oh my god, fuck this team.”

“How long ago?”

“I don’t know. Before Christmas.” She starts stabbing at the buttons of the remote. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

You watch her fume over her team being incompetent for a minute because it amuses you before you speak again.

“Well, what would you like to do on Saturday? LaF and Perry are going bowling.”

“I certainly do not want to go bowling.” You roll your eyes because you know she likes your friends. “But if you want to, we can do that.”

“How about your Valentine’s Day present this year is that you get to pick what we’re doing on Valentine’s Day? Whatever you want. I’ll even come with you if you want to drive out to Montréal and watch the Canadiens get humiliated again.”

Carmilla glares at you and you haven’t seen that look on her face in so long that it cracks you up.

“Laura, listen, their goalie is injured-”

You cut off the rant you know is coming with a kiss and you swear she keeps talking against your mouth for a solid minute before you say _alright, I’ll cut them some slack_ and she is satisfied that she’s defended her godforsaken Canadiens.

//

You are empty handed when you walk into Jamie’s office at your regular time slot. She looks at you quizzically from where she’s once again tending to her apparently high maintenance house plant when it comes to her attention.

“Is your printer not working?”

“It’s working.” You answer shortly.

“Did you email it to me?”

“I didn’t do it.”

She nods once at your confession and then gestures for you to come over to where she’s standing with a small knife in one hand and an uprooted cactus in the other.

“It got infected.” She explains, setting the plant down and pointing to the obviously rotting stem with a gloved hand. “When that happens, the rotting limbs need to be cut for the sake of the others.”

You watch as she makes a precise cut and detaches almost the entire bottom half of the plant, roots included, from the healthy bit at the top.

“The next step is to let it dry out. There isn’t a timeline for that, you just have to watch and see if it’s responding to the help you’ve given it.” She points to the pot on the table in front of her. “When it’s responding well, you clean the fungus out of the pot, put in new dirt, and you put the cactus back and give it a chance to grow roots again.”

“You think I’ve dried out.” You say.

“I think that you’ve done an incredible job cleaning out the pot.” Jamie says and you think _where does it hurt?_ and honestly can’t pinpoint a spot on your body where it does. “I think we can start putting dirt in it, if you’re ready.”

You think about how the sun hits Carmilla’s face in the mornings and how your dad smiles into his coffee each day after he gets to run a practice or coach his team through games no matter the outcome and you can already feel your roots curling around the two of them and you understand what she’s saying and you want so badly to _grow._

//

You start putting the dirt in.

One day while your dad and Carmilla are at practice, you pick out the correct season of _Buffy_ and jam the disk gracelessly into the rarely used DVD player. You are a crying mess before the opening scene is even through, but you watch the whole thing with Carmilla’s letterman wrapped around your shoulders. It takes several minutes of silence after the credits before you take your laptop out to write Jamie the review she wants, but you do it.

Writing Jamie’s review helps you focus and you don’t feel quite as raw afterwards. Of course, it isn’t anything close to a literary masterpiece when you get it done. The way you write it is almost methodical. It feels like you’re shoveling little scoops of dirt into your pot and yes, it also feels like you’re being cut open, but you’re moving forward.

You have to do it by yourself because that’s the only way you can really get better, but it helps that Carmilla hugs you to her afterwards. And it helps that she listens when you tell her all the good things you remember - and still _miss_ \- about your mother that you desperately want to forget.

//

“We’re going on a roadtrip.” Carmilla mumbles against your neck when you wake up on Valentine’s Day.

“I take back saying I’d come with you to watch the Canadiens get their asses kicked.” You groan, rubbing your eyes. “What time is it?”

“Noon.”

You groan again and you think you might be picking up on Carmilla’s waking habits, or lack thereof, because you never had a problem leaving your bed in the mornings before she came along.

“I’m going to shower,” she announces, her nose nudging yours. “Make me coffee?”

“Sure, babe.”

She makes a noise of contentment before you feel the bed shift as she gets up. You don’t follow her example until you hear the shower come on and then you finally shake yourself out of bed. Carmilla’s sheets are warm and smell like her so you really shouldn’t be blamed for wanting to stay wrapped up inside them.

Her coffee machine gurgles to life slowly when you turn it on and your stomach mimics the noise not even a second later.

“Carm,” you call out, heading for the pantry. “Want toast?”

Carmilla’s response sounds like an affirmative and so you toast two pairs of bread and set out two plates along with butter and a knife on the table. You pour her coffee into a cup and you’re just about to grab some orange juice from the fridge when she emerges from the bedroom. She’s drying her hair with a towel and you pause to take in the smooth plane of her abdomen when her shirt rides up as she does so.

“Perv,” she laughs, dropping the towel over the back of a chair and tearing into her toast.

“Bet you didn’t take your hair out of the shower drain again,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes at her.

“I bet I didn’t either.”

You shake your head, not quite able to believe how in love you are with such an annoying creature. She finishes her toast before you even get started on yours and then spends the rest of the meal looking at you expectantly like she’s anticipating you giving her bites of yours. You do, of course.

When you finish eating, you take your turn in the shower while Carmilla “cleans” up after breakfast. You know her well enough by now to know that she’ll probably go the quick route and just pile the dishes nicely in the sink. Sure enough, when you’re done, she’s standing in front of her closet _definitely_ not cleaning up and instead zipping a vest up over the plaid shirt she’s wearing.

“You look gay,” you tell her as you pass. She grumbles something in response and then tugs a beanie over her head as you laugh.

“Dress warm.”

“How warm?”

She smirks, “Like you’re going camping.”

//

She takes you to your old high school.

It’s Saturday and so no one is around and all the gates are closed. Carmilla parks on the side of the street and then smiles at you like she knows something you don’t.

She gets out and opens the door for you so you can do the same. You follow her towards where the soccer field is surrounded by a chain link fence. It’s cold for the middle of the day and you can see your breath puffing out in front of you.

You don’t pay much attention to Carmilla, content instead to take in everything about this high school that has changed since the last time you saw it. That is until she starts to climb the fence.

“What are you doing?”

“Trespassing.” She grunts, scaling the barrier like her life depends on it. “Follow me.”

Because you’re in love with her, you do.

There are a few close calls involving your scarf catching on the fence and you do fall on top of Carmilla instead of setting yourself down on the ground gently, but no other damage occurs.

“Why are we here?” You ask, rolling off of her.

Carmilla stands and dusts herself off.

“This,” she says, spreading her arms, “is where we first met.”

You scoff. “No it isn’t.”

“It is,” she insists, walking a few feet down the length of the fence. “I was standing here and you were zipping around the field like a goddamn bee because you thought gym class was the Olympics.”

You roll your eyes at her but laugh because that does sound like you.

“And then you went and fell in love, is that how the story goes?”

“No. I actually thought you were a bit of a dick.”

You laugh again and she steps closer, letting her arms encircle your waist. Carmilla kisses you with a gentle intensity that always makes your toes curl.

“I made sandwiches while you were in the shower,” she says seriously. “Do you want to do rock, paper, scissors to see who has to climb over the fence to get them?”

//

You make out more than you picnic and, as a result, the sandwiches don’t get eaten until well into the afternoon. Carmilla drifts off for a nap with her face pressed against your stomach afterwards and you watch the clouds for a while before you too succumb to sleep.

She wakes you up with a kiss and you help her pack everything up just as the sun begins to set on the horizon. You climb over the fence first and Carmilla throws the blanket and all the trash over to you before going over herself.

“Thank you,” you tell her, hooking your pinkies together. “That was a wonderful Valentine’s Day.”

Carmilla chuckles and kisses your cheek. “It’s not quite over yet, cupcake.”

She puts on music in the car that she _knows_ makes you sleepy and then hums along with a small smile on her face. You lean your back against the door and pull your left knee up so you can rest your chin against it while you’re watching her.

In this light, in any light, you love her.

A particularly bright patch of sunset sky rolls into the frame provided by the window behind Carmilla and you snap a quick picture on your phone. Her jawline doesn’t look quite as sharp in the photo and the sun gives her this glow that you’ve never been able to explain. You think of her running up that hill and you feel so much that you have to close your eyes.

Eventually, you must fall asleep because the next thing you know, Carmilla is leaning over you in the dark, her hair obscuring your vision.

“We’re here,” she says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You blink at her a few times before nodding and stretching your limbs.

It’s dark and so you’re not really sure where you are when you first get out of the car. But then you almost go face first into the ground because of a stray tree root and it’s only Carmilla’s hand at the small of your back that keeps you from doing so. Where exactly it is you are hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Carm.” You say.

“Yes.”

She lays the blanket out and then lies down on top of it. It’s dark, but you can still see her smile.

“Hey,” you say stupidly, reaching for her.

“Hey.” She says back.

You move to lie down too so that you can curl yourself up around her and Carmilla breathes out a happy sigh against your hair at that. She laces your fingers together and you are struck by how far you’ve come together.

“What are we doing?” You ask, even though you already know the answer.

“Looking at the stars.”

You humor her by taking your attention off of her for a moment so you can look up at the dark sky littered with old light. Carmilla seems focused and you catch on a moment later.

“Are you looking for... you?”

She nods. “You see one that seems a little smaller than the rest?”

You do.

“The one by itself?”

“It’s not by itself. If you look closer, you can see the one you named for me almost directly beside it.”

You look closer like she instructs and you see it. Your attention keeps getting drawn back to the other star though and she must sense that because she leans down and you feel her lips land on your eyebrow.

“That first one, you see it?” She asks in a low tone. “I named it Laura.”

//

Campus gets shut down one day the following week because of a power outage and so you and Carmilla go for a run and then end up back at your house. Your dad’s in his office and you feel so safe with Carmilla draped over you on the couch that it feels like time to start plugging away at that dirt all over again.

“Carm.” You grumble, poking her in the stomach. She whines and rolls over enough so you can stand. “Time to watch TV.”

“The Canadiens don’t play today, Laura.” She says exasperatedly, her voice raspy from sleep.

“No, I-” You bite your lip. “I think I want to give that Christmas present a go.”

Carmilla goes from looking like she’s half dead on your couch to wide awake and sitting bolt upright in less than a second when your words register.

“Do you want…” She clears her throat. “Do you want me to get popcorn?”

“Where would you get that?”

“I don’t know.” She admits, rubbing at her eyes. “But I feel useless so I thought I’d offer to do something.”

You plant your knee on the couch so you can kiss her.

“You don’t have to do anything.” You tell her. “I’ll just go and grab the DVD and you can be Carmilla the human blanket again, okay?”

“Okay.” She agrees.

And it’s a start.

 

* * *

 

You're leaving the locker room, hair wet and gear bag hanging from your shoulder, when your phone vibrates in your hand and Laura's name flashes on the screen.

_I miss you._

The stupid grin that takes over your lips is automatic and Danny, who just walked out after you, rolls her eyes at the sight.

"That's disgusting," she says, knocking her bag against yours.

It's probably pointless to play innocent, but you do anyway. “What are you talking about?"

Danny scoffs. “You light up like a fucking Christmas tree whenever you're texting her," she starts numbering things on her fingers. "Or talking to her, or seeing her, hell, even _thinking_ about her has you all giggly and stupid."

There's something probably insulting in her words, but you're too busy typing out a reply to Laura to even pay attention to Danny's teasing.

 _I'll call you in 5,_ you text, quickly followed by _I miss you too._

Laura replies with a heart emoji and you feel your own skip a beat at the sight of it. She's been sending them more and more lately, and though you know - logically, at least - that it's just a stupid emoji and it doesn't really mean anything, you can't help but think that maybe it _does_ and this is just Laura's way of expressing something that she's not ready to put into words yet.

(It doesn't hurt to dream, right?)

"Hey, loser." Danny calls out, snapping her fingers in front of your face. "Don't leave me talking to myself."

You roll your eyes, walking to one of the vending machines just outside the locker room and shoving a couple of bills inside. You hit numbers 1 and then 3 and wait for your pack of Twizzlers and Danny's pack of Cheez-Its to fall down.

She doesn't say thank you when you throw it at her, but you also didn't apologize for tuning her out, so you think that makes you even.

"Those things are awful, by the way.” You tell her as you open your pack of Twizzlers and bite on one.

She shrugs. "At least I'm not the one eating an artificially coloured and sweetened piece of rubber."

You grin around your candy and take out your phone again. "I'm gonna call Laura," you tell her. "Don't let the bus leave without me."

"They wouldn't," she shrugs. "Coach Hollis would probably call out a search party if his favorite player _and_ future daughter-in-law didn't show up for head-count."

The idea of ever marrying Laura has your heart skipping in your chest.

You find it you don't quite hate it. At all, actually.

But you try to play it cool. “Whatever, asshole."

She gives you one of those cheeky grins that you hate and you flip her off as you walk out towards the parking lot. You pull out your phone and you hit the first speed-dial, and Laura's number, along with that photo of her sleeping you took a couple of weeks ago, take over the screen.

She answers on the second ring. “Hey!"

"Hey, baby," the sound of her voice has you grinning like an idiot again. "What's up?"

You can hear Laura shuffling and then a sigh comes through the line, "I don't think I can sleep without you again."

That's probably an exaggeration, considering the two of you don't sleep on the same bed every night, but you'd be lying if you said that you don't understand what she means. You haven't touched Laura in over forty-eight hours and already your body is showing withdrawal symptoms.

"I'll be home soon," you tell her, and you bite your lip as she shuffles again, trying not to think of Laura lying on her bed, the top of her pajamas riding up and exposing her midriff. "And then tomorrow you can stay over and I'll make up for the last couple of days."

She hums. "I hope you know there'll be lots of cuddling happening."

You glance back to where the bus is parked, and you notice that the girls are starting to get inside, Coach Hollis checking out their names on his list one by one.

"I wouldn't expect anything else, baby." You kick out another stone and watch as Danny waves at you. Holding up a finger, you focus back on Laura, "I gotta go now, though. I just wanted to call you before we got on the road."

"I'm glad you did.” Laura says, and you can picture in your mind exactly how cute she must look. It makes you wanna fast forward the next several hours just so that you can be in her arms again.

"We're gonna lose signal and my battery is dying, but I'll text you when I get home, okay?"

"Okay, baby," you hear the rustling again. "Have a safe trip and get home soon."

Danny calls out your name and you see that everyone is already on the bus and you're the only one left. You start to walk back as you say your goodbyes to Laura, "I will. I gotta go now, okay? I love you, sleep well."

You hit the end button without waiting for a reply and rush inside the bus, Coach Hollis shaking his head as he closes the doors and tells the driver that he can _hit the road._

Something vibrates in your pocket and you pull your phone out only to catch a glimpse of Laura's picture before your battery gives up on you and the screen goes completely dark. You don't see why she would be calling you when you've just talked to her, but you guess she probably just wanted to say something cheesy that would most definitely have you falling for her all over again.

"I thought you were only gonna tell her we're heading back," Danny says, as soon as you take your seat next to her. "Did you decide to recap your entire weekend?"

You roll your eyes as you pull out your iPod and start the painful process of disentangling your earbuds. "I was just telling her goodnight, so you can shove it."

"That's some good night, alright."

When you finally manage to make sense of the mess of white wires you have in your hands, you plug them in and stick out your tongue at Danny. She rolls her eyes at you, but wastes no time pulling out her 3DS and loading whatever game she and Kirsch are trying to beat these days.

You glance at her screen and make a note to tell Kirsch about her progress; they have a stupid running bet over who can beat more games and he's losing so bad _your_ pride is starting to feel wounded. You can't imagine his is much better, so you'll try to help out a little bit.

As the bus hits the road, and one of the songs Laura loaded into your iPod starts playing, you let yourself replay in your mind the conversation you just had with your girlfriend.

It feels good to even think about that word. Years ago you would have laughed of anyone that might say you and Laura Hollis had a future, but now you can't imagine what would have been of you if you didn't have her by your side during everything you went through.

You close your eyes and you can picture a clear image of Laura lying on her bed, biting her lip and twirling a piece of hair as she talks on the phone with you. You're so lucky to be able to tell her that you miss her and that want her and that you'll see her soon. You're lucky to be able to tell her that you love her.

And then you shoot up on your seat, sending your iPod sliding down the floor and having Danny look at you as if you'd just lost your mind.

"What the _fuck?_ "

You don't pay attention to her because you're too busy thinking back to the conversation you just had with Laura twenty minutes ago. You're thinking it through word by word and you're trying to make sure that you didn't just throw out the window all the months of progress you'd made.

Except that you can remember it as clearly as when you first kissed her, or took her on a date, or even slept with your arms wrapped around her.

_I love you, sleep well._

You said it and you didn't even realize it. And you don't feel bad for it, because it's the truth and you've been feeling it for so long now that you're not surprised you couldn't keep it in anymore.

And even though it feels as if Laura loves you too - and sometimes you feel that so deep it’s a wonder you didn’t let the words spill out of your mouth sooner - there’s still that small but nagging part of your brain that thinks maybe Laura isn't ready for this kind of declaration. You honestly didn't mean to put her in the position where she felt so trapped she’d eventually push you away again, but you can’t help but feel that maybe that’s exactly what you did.

And Laura had noticed. She had because she called you back and your stupid phone had decided that moment was appropriate to become an useless piece of shit.

You feel like you're going to start hyperventilating.

"Give me your phone," you ask Danny, who has her head shoved between her legs, trying to pull your iPod from under the seat in front of her.

"What?" She furrows her brows at you, but you only wave your hand as if to say _'hurry up'_ and she huffs as she takes her phone from her pocket. She presses a button, and then shakes her head. "No signal."

You feel as if your world is crumbling. Thirty minutes ago, you couldn't wait to get home.

Now, it's everything you dread.

//

By the time you get back, you're exhausted. You haven't managed to close your eyes for more than ten seconds on the entire ride and you checked Danny's phone so much for signal that the useless thing died two hours before you even made it back to Styria.

Your eyes are heavy and your body is suffering from the lack of sleep, but all you can think of is that you're gonna have to face Laura in a few hours and you're gonna have to find a way to make her understand that you didn't really know what you were saying and that she doesn't need to pull back because you're not asking anything of her.

And you aren't; you love her, that's true, but you'll love her no matter what. You just don't want for anything to change.

"Check it out." Danny knocks on your shoulder and points to something once you both step out of the bus. "Looks like you have a welcoming committee."

You follow the direction she's pointing and you feel your palms sweat at the sight of Laura standing next to her father, his arm wrapped around her as her head rests on his shoulder.

When she notices you, however, she whispers something to him and he nods, walking away just as Laura starts to make her way towards you.

Danny glances between you two - your little freak out on the bus must finally make sense to her - and says, "Well, I'll see you later." And wastes no time sauntering away from you.

You watch as Laura waves at her and Danny waves back, but before you can even think to move, Laura is already standing in front of you.

She looks incredibly cute in her red toque and red mittens, and you find a flicker of hope in the fact that she's wrapped in your Letterman jacket, the number 13 sitting proudly on her chest just above your last name.

"Hey," you say, and you have to shove your hands in the pocket of your pants to keep yourself from reaching out to her. She doesn't look pissed, but that's the thing with Laura, really.

She's the quiet before the storm.

"You told me you love me," are the first words out of her mouth, and you feel every bit of hope that you had that maybe she hadn't heard you crumbling around yourself.

"Laura-" you start, but she's quick to interrupt you.

She takes a step forward and you take one back, feeling your back hit the bus behind you, "You said goodnight and you told me you love me, and then you hung up."

You look down at your shoes, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes. You are _not_ going to cry right now.

"Look," you sigh. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking and-"

Laura takes another step forward, and this time you have nowhere to run. Her body is pressed against yours and you can feel her breath against your skin, soft and warm in comparison to the cold and harsh wind that blows around you.

"You told me you love me," she repeats. "And then you hung up, your phone _died_ and I had to spend five hours waiting for you to get here so that I could say it back."

You press your eye shut, momentarily glad that a tear doesn't roll out as you do so, "Laura, look-" and then your brain catches up with her words and your eyes fly open. "Wait. What?"

Laura tugs on the belt loops of your pants, pulling you close to her. "It's a bit unfair to throw that on a girl without even waiting for a response, don't you think?"

There's a hundred percent chance that you might be dreaming.

"You love me?" You ask, and you don't even care that your voice sounds small and that Laura can probably hear your heart racing in your chest.

She rolls her eyes at you, and when she presses a soft kiss to your lips you think you're going to die. "You're such an idiot."

It seems that your brain has finally started working again, because you move your hands to her waist and you pull your bodies flush together, right before you kiss her with all the love that you feel is about to burst out of your body.

When you pull back, you can't help but grin at her, "But I'm an idiot you love?"

Laura rests her forehead against yours and lets out a content sigh, "You're _the_ idiot I love."

(And you knew that, deep inside, but _hearing_ the words is something else entirely.)

So you kiss her again. And again, and again. You kiss her until Coach Hollis clears his throat behind you and tells Laura that you need to get some sleep and she needs to _let_ you. And any other time you might be looking for the nearest hole to hide yourself, but you find that, in that moment, the last thing you wanna do is _hide._

Because Laura Hollis loves you.

And as long as you have that, you don't need anything else in this world.

//

You thought you’d gotten used to the feeling of Laura’s body pressed close against yours, but it doesn’t take you a while to figure out that things feel _different_ when you don’t have to keep anything bottled inside anymore.

For the first time - since all of _this_ started - you truly feel as if you’ve nothing to hide. Laura has you, body and soul, one hundred and ten percent.

You’ve always made a point in your life of being your own person, but now you can’t even fathom that idea when the alternative is belonging to _Laura._ And, even better, knowing that she is yours just as much as you are hers. Despite everything you’ve been through.

(Or maybe _because_ of that.)

“I didn’t realize that I said it,” you say, just as you feel Laura relaxing into a peaceful slumber. A soft laugh escapes your lips, a mixture of happiness and disbelief at how poorly you handled that particular declaration. “Probably because I think it all the time. God, I’m thinking it now.”

And you are. You’ve been thinking it for a long time, but now it seems that your brain is stuck on a loop of only Laura, Laura, _Laura_ and how much you absolutely fucking love this girl.

It’s ridiculous, really.

Laura hums. “I definitely don’t mind it being said.”

It’s not as if you need permission to say the words - especially when it’s all out there and it’s _mutual_ \- but it’s not as if you don’t like the encouragement.

You pull Laura to yourself and you press a kiss to her neck, “I love you.” And then you move to her cheeks, her nose, her lips, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The words push past your lips over and over again, and once you finally settle down against Laura, you wonder how is it possible that it doesn’t feel as if they’ve lost their meaning with how much you’ve been using them lately. If anything, it just seems as if the feelings inside your chest grow stronger every time you tell Laura you love her and you just need to keep saying it otherwise you might burst.

You never thought you’d ever be capable of feeling something so strong for someone.

Maybe it wouldn’t be like this with anyone else, maybe it was always supposed to be Laura.

(And you wouldn’t have it any other way.)

//

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that you have somewhat of a tunnel vision when it comes to certain things in your life. Well, only two things, really. Hockey. And Laura. It’s hard to focus on anything else when your girlfriend is in front of you or your favorite team is playing, and it’s even more of a struggle when when you’re watching a game _with_ Laura, because while you wanna be frustrated that the fucking Habs are losing _yet_ again, you just can’t seem to be able to with the feeling of warm skin against you and the feel of Laura’s fingers absentmindedly massaging your leg.

It’s hard, but you try your best and you make it work. Everything else though? It becomes but a blip in your radar.

Which is why, when Laura mentions Valentine’s Day, you can’t even pretend that you didn’t totally forget it.

“Shit.” You say. “I forgot. But you’ll like your present, I’m sure.”

Last year you ended one of them most important nights of your life sitting across from Laura and sharing a cookie with her, and you realize that you don’t really mind if that’s what you end up doing again, because you have a feeling that now you can hold her hand and you can kiss her it’ll be even better than it was last year.

“How do you know? You haven’t even gotten it.”

You raise an eyebrow at her. “I never said I hadn’t gotten it.”

“Carmilla.” She huffs, and you fall in love a bit more at how cute she looks when she’s frustrated. “You literally just said you forgot about Valentine’s Day.”

And that’s the thing, you might have forgotten about the _date_ \- because it’s hard to keep these things in mind when you’re trying not to lose your head about your team possibly not making the playoffs, which, _what the fuck?_ \- but Laura’s gift had been easy.

It had been a bit of a no-brainer once you realized how stupidly in love with her you were.

_Sixty years._

She gave you a promise of far more than that without even knowing. You figured it was fitting that you’d share this promise with her.

“Bought it a while ago.” You wanna keep basking in the frustration that grows bigger and bigger on your girlfriend’s face because this is _fun_ \- teasing her, that is - but just then the opposite team scores and you’re just about done with everything in life.

Except Laura, of course.

“Oh my god, fuck this team.”

And then she’s asking about plans and joining LaFontaine and Perry and you don’t mind her friends - you might actually _like_ them - so you wouldn’t really hate the idea, despite the bigger part of you that wants to keep Laura all to yourself on Valentine’s Day.

(And every other day, really, but _details._ )

“How about your Valentine’s Day present this year is that you get to pick what we’re doing on Valentine’s Day? Whatever you want. I’ll even come with you if you want to drive out to Montréal and watch the Canadiens get humiliated again.”

For a moment there - as you focus your hardest glare at her - you wonder how is it that you’ve managed to fall in love with someone _so fucking rude._

“Laura, listen, their goalie is injured-”

But then she’s kissing you and smiling against your lips and you try to defend your team for a little while longer, but then you realize that - well, who cares? It’s only a game.

(One that you love passionately and you have lots of feelings about, _yes,_ but a game nonetheless.)

Kissing Laura is a better use of your time, anyway.

//

Your heart breaks a million times as you hold Laura and listens to her stories about her mother. It brings back memories of the girl you met in high school and those memories intertwine with the ones from a couple of years back when you just couldn’t make sense of the woman standing in front of you, and in the end of it all, you’re amazed at just _how far_ she’s come along.

You’re so proud. In fact, proud probably doesn’t even begin to cover.

She’s come such a long way, put herself back together and changed so much from the girl who was just so angry at the world, and you’ve been witness to it all.

It’s been a long road and you know she still has much more to go and you can’t wait to look back - ten, twenty years from now - at how far you’ve come and how long the path you’ve both walked together is.

//

You take Laura to your old high school for Valentine’s Day.

The idea sparked in your mind when you were thinking about everything that’s happened to the both of you and how it all started, back when you had no idea that hurricane Laura Hollis would come and shake your life the way it did.

It should’ve been obvious to you a long time ago that Laura would never be _just_ another girl in your life, not with how you could remember so clearly the first time you saw her, running around the field like she completely _owned_ it, even though it was probably the second or third gym class of the year and half of the students, like you, were hanging on the bleachers, not even bothering with gym clothes.

You could probably paint a picture as clear as one of Laura’s photographs, the way the sun hit her hair and made it glow in a way that just didn’t happen to anyone else, as if it was solely focused on _her._

She was a jerk, you also remember _that_ clearly, but if anyone asked, that wouldn’t be the first word you’d use to describe your first impression of Laura Hollis.

//

Because you’re a sentimental fool and this day is about _firsts_ , you take Laura to the place where everything changed.

Your throat clogs when the rush of memories hits you and you use the excuse of laying a blanket on the grass to get a hold of yourself, so that when you look at Laura and you smile at her, only good things are in your mind; the feelings of her kiss, so desperate and urgent against your lips, the way her hands itched to touch you, the way she nearly made your heart explode from all the emotions that you didn’t even know you were capable of feeling for a single person.

Laura curls up around you and you focus on showing her the present you got for her, because this feels like the beginning of something else.

It’s your first Valentine’s Day as her girlfriend, it’s the first gift on this date that you’re going to give her, and you need for Laura to understand that it’s not just a present. It’s a promise, that you’re gonna be there with her, always, by her side, come rain or fall.

It’s about sixty years and many, many more.

“That first one, you see it?” You ask, and your voice is low because it feels like anything louder than that will disturb the perfect moment you’re living right now. “I named it Laura.”

She looks at you then, hair falling around her face and the moon shining bright behind her and you feel your breath getting caught in your throat for a whole different reason than it did when you first stepped into the campsite.

You’re once again reminded of teenage Laura Hollis, so full of light and so ready to take on the world, and you wonder how is it that you’ve managed to deny for so long what you’ve always thought of her, what slipped into your mind from the first time you saw her and never really left.

Buried under layers of pain and suffering, self-preservation and even misunderstanding, you can’t deny that under this light or under _any_ light, she’d always been one thing, above all else:

_Ethereal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ask blog](http://bsau-asks.tumblr.com/)   
>  [tams](http://itmustbebunnies.tumblr.com)   
>  [celina](http://patsiewalker.tumblr.com)


	24. March - Junior Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka sixty seasons and a movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew!  
> 3 whole months, _holy shit._ We're so sorry about that! This one isn't very big in length, but it _is_ one of the last biggest turning points in this fic. So we hope that you'll enjoy it. Thank you so much for sticking around, and loving this as much as we do. We'll try not to take too long with the next one, and know that we _will_ finish this. Enjoy!

One season of _The X Files_ turns into two, and soon you and Laura develop a routine that includes less football and hockey games (though not a _whole_ lot less, you’re both still yourselves and that would be impossible) and a little more tv shows.

You find that you don’t actually quite mind, despite the fact that you were never all that invested in that kind of entertainment in the first place, because Laura _was_ and it reflects on how eager she is to share all the DVDs covering the shelves under her TV with you, once the fear of actually facing that part of her life again lifts from her body.

It’s touch and go at first; she doesn’t come anywhere near _Buffy_ besides that one episode she had to review for her therapist, but on the days neither of you is in the mood for mysteries and aliens she brings other options under her arm and when she settles against you, head resting on your chest and arms wrapped around your waist, her body growing less and less stiff with each episode that goes by, you realize that maybe this could be your thing now.

Maybe someday, when Laura looks to the stacks of DVDs in her home, she won’t think of the nights spent with the mother that left her - _broke_ her, really - but instead of all the afternoons she spent wrapped all around you, the stories on the screen becoming more and more each day a part of _your_ story with her.

A story that, if it’s up to you, is one that will have many, many seasons to come.

//

You find Laura standing against your car when you leave practice one Friday afternoon, a Starbucks package in hand, two drinks sitting in a cup holder on top of your beetle and a grin nearly splitting her face in half.

She’s _so beautiful_ you could probably spend your life looking at her without ever getting tired of it.

“This is a nice surprise.” You tell her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips as you come to a stop right in front of her.

“I left home a bit early and I figured we could share this,” she raises the small bag, which you assume holds a cookie inside. “before I headed to Jamie’s.”

You grab the bag from her hand. “I’m starving, you’re the best.”

Laura laughs, reaching for the drinks and handing you one as you take a bite of the cookie.

She raises an eyebrow at you, “We’re supposed to be sharing that.”

“Must we really?” You whine, but you hand the snack to her after taking another bite, a cheeky grin on your lips. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she rolls her eyes, but you can see the smile on the corners of her lips and the way the blood rushes to her cheeks as she takes her own bite of the cookie. “So you keep saying.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “That’s not what how this is supposed to go, cupcake.”

Being the asshole that she is, though, Laura only tilts her head to the side in an attempt to look innocent, cookie crumbs falling from the side of her lips. Your hands itch to touch her, but you’re on a mission here, so you manage to control yourself.

“Oh? It isn’t?” She teases.

“Laura, come on.” You huff. “Say it.”

But apparently she’s in a good mood today, because her grin only grows larger and more taunting on her lips.

“Say what, baby?” She hands the cookie back to you. “This is really good, by the way.”

You roll your eyes and you shove all that’s left of it on your mouth, much to Laura’s surprise and disappointment.

“Carmilla!”

“What?” You ask, pulling the same face she was pulling at you only a minute ago. “That really _was_ good.”

She throws you a glare. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” She’s trying her best not to laugh now, so you finally let your thumb move to the corner of her lips and you wipe off the crumbs from her skin right before you kiss her again. “You’re still not off the hook.”

Laura groans exaggeratedly. “Fine. I love you too, you big idiot.”

When you pull back, there’s a satisfied grin on your lips.

“Of course you do.” You open the door for her. “Come on, I’ll take you to Jamie’s office.”

“It’s the least you could do after you ate almost the whole cookie by yourself.”

“I promise I’ll make up for it, baby.”

She takes a sip of her iced tea, “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

//

Laura spends 30 hot seconds in her therapist's office before you watch both of them walk out of the building, with your girlfriend only offering a shrug as a form of explanation to you.

The thought of following them crosses your mind, but you've heard enough about Dr. Nolan to know that her methods aren't always very clear, though you can't find any evidence whatsoever that they don't work because you've _seen_ the improvement.

You watch it in the way Laura seems more and more comfortable with herself as the days go by.

So you decide to stay put and you spend the better part of an hour watching game highlights on your phone before they both come back, hands smudged with dry paint and a satisfied smile on both their faces.

The curiosity is nagging at you, but you don't ask. And Laura seems to be in an even better mood than when you first found her at the parking lot, so you figure that it doesn't really matter _what_ they were doing, as long as your girlfriend keeps smiling like this.

Jamie nods at you once she heads back into her office and you nod back, wishing more than anything that you could thank her for everything that she's done for Laura and, consequently, you.

It doesn't happen then, but you tuck the words deep within yourself for when the opportunity arises.

They might not ever be enough to really express the gratitude you feel, but you figure you’ll try anyway.

//

To say you’re shocked to find Laura and Will with their faces buried in books when you finish practice is really quite an understatement.

You’d introduced them to each other a few weeks ago - because really, there was just no way you could avoid that happening - but you didn’t think they’d ever actually talked with each other beyond the few pleasantries that were exchanged over your usual Starbucks order.

But then, there they are - sitting next to each other, apparently doing _homework_ together.

You can’t deny that there’s a small part of you that is slightly jealous of someone else helping Laura with calculus, because that’s _your_ thing. But then you look at their faces and how they actually seem comfortable around each other and something else fills your heart, something that feels a lot like a mixture of happiness and pride all mixed together in a flurry feeling that makes it impossible for you to stop the stupid grin that takes over your face.

Books have always sort of been your thing and you could probably wax poetic about what the sight of your brother and Laura actually getting along means to you, but the only thing that keeps running through your mind is that this feels a whole lot like the first time you solved a math equation and everything just _made sense._

There are plenty of theories about how math can actually be found everywhere in the universe, and right then and there - looking at the full equation of your life - you think there couldn’t have been a more beautiful way to explain everything you have.

It’s been hard to solve, you can’t deny that. Between too many unknowns, too many divisions and more subtractions than you could handle at times, the mess of variables had often times left you on the brink of giving up -  but you can’t deny that it’s all been worth it.

And if the second part of your life’s problem is anything like this - well, it doesn’t matter, really. Because you know it’ll feel even better when you _do_ find a way to solve it.

//

“So,” your sister’s voice comes through the speaker of your phone, her tone enough indication that she’s not particularly happy with you at the moment. It makes you let out a heavy sigh as you finish loading the dishes Laura refused - on principle, apparently - to do before she left your apartment to go to class. “William tells me that he’s met your _girlfriend_.”

“Well, _William,_ ” you roll your eyes. “Should’ve learned by know to keep his mouth shut about certain things.”

It’s not that you don’t want Mattie to meet Laura, not really. In fact, these are the most important people in your life and you’d like nothing more than for them to get to know each other, but you didn’t exactly have much of a choice between Will working at Starbucks and now basically being tutored by Laura.

(Which you still couldn’t deny how _amusing_ you found.)

It’d just sort of… happened.

And, yeah, Will might be a pain in the ass when he’s feeling inspired, but _Mattie_ \- well, that’s a whole other deal.

 _Inspired_ is basically her default mode. You can’t deny that you’ve been putting off her inevitable encounter with Laura.

Things were still so fragile. A part of you wants to enjoy having Laura only to yourself for as long as you can before bringing your family into the picture. And it’s not because you think they might ruin things - you think you’ve all finally reached a point where things are just _right_ , but after all that you’ve been through, you figured you could allow yourself to be just a little bit selfish when it came to your love life.

So much for that now.

“Don’t be petty, darling,” Mattie says, shaking you out of your thoughts. ‘It’s not becoming of you.”

You roll your eyes, because _of course_ she’s spouting things like that. It’s amazingly scary how much Mattie takes after your stepmother sometimes. “When has _anything_ ever been becoming of me?”

“True,” she tuts. “But don’t change the subject. Laura. I would very much like to meet her.”

Finishing loading the dishes, you pick up your phone and press the speaker button, bringing it up to your ear as you lean against the counter. You know you’re not getting out of this either way, so you decide you might as well get it over with.

“Dinner?”

“That sounds _delightful_ , darling.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you try to act annoyed by it, but you’re kind of glad that this is all coming together like this. “I’ll talk to Laura and let you know, okay?”

“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’m sure you are. Bye, Mattie.”

She makes a clicking noise with her lips, and then, “Take care, sis!”

When she hangs up, you stop trying to fight the smile that breaks on your lips.

//

Whenever you’re in Laura’s room these days, you find yourself going through the pictures covering her walls.

It seems like everytime you look at them you find something new, another piece of Laura that you somehow hadn’t seen before. You store it away with every little tidbit you’ve learned about her so far, kept safely in a box with her name on it, the one that just keeps growing and growing inside your heart.

You wondered if this bothered her, at first. It’s clear that the pictures are something that mean a lot to her, and you know that Laura has had her fair share of difficulties letting people in - letting _you_ in - but you’d been pleasantly surprised by the fact that she not only seemed okay with this, she seemed to _want_ you to see things like she did, to get that glimpse into her soul.

“Would you like to go to my session next Friday?” Her voice breaks your attention from the pictures and you finally turn to her, a faint blush covering your cheeks as you realize that you’ve been staring at her wall so long that you completely lost track of everything else.

“Sorry, what?”

She motions for you to join her on the bed, so you do, your arm automatically wrapping around her waist and your head finding it’s usual place against her shoulder. You rub your nose against her neck and you can’t fight the small sigh that escapes your lips at just how at _home_ you feel in her arms.

“Jamie,” she explains. “She would like to meet you.”

Well, you hadn’t been expecting _that._

“She would? Why- Is that a good thing?”

Laura had been going to therapy for nearly an year now and while you _had_ plenty you wanted to thank Jamie for, you had never been sure if that was your place or not. You would always be more than glad to be there for Laura if she needed you to, but you’re still not sure if her recovery and subsequent happiness should be tied to you in any way.

Then again, when you look at everything that you’ve both been through, you don’t know if that’s even an option, really.

There’s no way you’ll ever be fully happy without Laura. And the thought that the same applies to her has you both elated and terrified.

(You’ve come to realize that these two emotions seem to walk hand-in-hand when it comes to your relationship with Laura.)

She presses a kiss to your lips and the way her smile is directed at you is more than enough to calm the impending sense of dread you felt building in the pit of your stomach.

“I think so.” She nods. “I talk about you a lot, you know?”

That’s another surprise, and you can’t even keep it away from your voice when you asks her if she does.

This seems to only amuse her, though.

“Of course.” She presses another kiss to your lips. “I love you. You're the reason why-”

And there it is.

You try to interrupt her because you don’t want her to say anything she might come to regret later on, but Laura only presses the tip of her index finger to your lips and sends you a look that means she won’t have none of it.

So you only press a kiss to her skin and you let her go on.

“No, look- I know that I wouldn't be here if I hadn't made an effort to right the wrongs in my life. But you have to know that I wouldn't have accepted there was even something wrong if it hadn't been for you.”

You try for a joke - because you just can’t help yourself - but Laura sees right through you.

And maybe she’s right. Maybe you both needed each other to be where you are right now. You know that you’ve both still got a long way to go, but maybe the idea of helping each other along and holding on to one another isn’t actually a bad thing.

Maybe that’s what this whole _love_ thing is all about.

“I love you.” You tell her, and you wonder if she can tell just how much those words mean to you. She probably can’t, really, because you don’t think that your feelings for her can atually be measured. “It’d be my pleasure to meet Jamie.”

Laura looks at you then as if you personally hung the moon in the sky, and you realize that it’s a look you can definitely get used to. She makes a joke about Jamie, but you’ve heard her speaking about her therapist long enough to know that they have a close relationship and Laura is very thankful for everything that Jamie has done for her.

And you are too.

But then she’s kissing you and all these things completely slip your mind. You’re more than content to just _be_ with her.

//

You’re nervous when you walk into Jamie’s office the next friday, but it takes you a whole of five minutes to realize that you had no reason whatsoever to worry about.

It’s such a good hour of your life that when you walk out, you feel as if you could take on the world with Laura by your side.

(You wonder if that’s how she feels too. You hope it is.)

“Would you like to have dinner with my siblings and I?” You ask, because that’s really the only piece that’s keeping your puzzle from being complete and you’ve been at it for so long that you just want to finally be able to lean back and admire the entire picture - look at the cracks between them and know that you’ve managed to put them together despite everything.

And Laura, bless this girl, really, doesn’t even take a second before she’s sending you the most beautiful smile in this world and nodding her head at you.

“I would love to, Carm.”

“You might regret this.” You warn her, because your siblings are a lot for _you_ to handle sometimes, you can’t imagine how Laura will feel under their scrutiny.

She doesn’t seem fazed, though. “I already know your brother and we get along quite well, if I may say so,” she actually looks smug about this, the little asshole. “I think I can handle your sister as well.”

“Mattie can be a handful.”

“Baby,” she laughs. “I handled you just fine, didn’t I?”

Well, _that_ you can’t deny. “Fair point.”

If you’re being honest about it, she handled you _perfectly._

 

* * *

 

When you walk into Jamie’s office in your usual Friday afternoon slot, she doesn't even allow you to take a seat before she's all but pushing you out again.

“We're going on a field trip today.” She informs you, and you're too busy in your confusion to do much more than let yourself be dragged through the waiting room and out the door.

Carmilla raises an eyebrow at you from where she's sitting in one of the many weird chairs your therapist has decorating her workplace and your only response is a shrug because - _well,_ you learned a long time ago that when it comes to Jamie, you better just roll with it.

“Where exactly are we going?” You ask her once you've walked out of a backdoor you didn't know existed and into an alley that feels way more dangerous than you care to admit right now.

“I don't know,” Jamie shrugs. “I just didn't want to stay inside today so I figured we could walk around a bit.”

“But Carmilla-”

Jamie smirks at you. “Oh, is that who that young lady was?”

“You know who Carmilla is.” You roll your eyes, watching as she turns around in a corner and a huge wall full of graffiti shows up in front of you.

“You're right,” Jamie nods, walking behind a dumpster and picking up a duffle bag. You're shocked when she opens it and throws you a spray can. “I know who Carmilla _is,_ but I'm afraid I haven't met her at all.”

You furrow your brows, glancing from the can in your hands to Jamie and then the wall. “I didn't realize you wanted to meet her.”

“I think it's time that I do.” She tells you, and you can only watch in a mix of shock and fascination as she starts to work on what's apparently an unfinished piece on the wall. She pauses for a moment and looks back at you. “You should bring her around next week.”

“She's around.” You point out, your thumb thrown over your shoulder in what you assume is the general direction of her office.

Jamie turns back to her work. “I know, but we're busy now.”

Something dawns on you then. “I'm pretty sure what you're doing right now is illegal.”

“You'd be correct.” She nods. “But, as you can see, there's no one out here. So get to work, Laura.”

“I can't paint.” You try to protest, though you know her well enough to accept that it'll be a futile attempt.

Surely enough, Jamie only shrugs at you. “You can always learn new things. Live a little.”

You watch her for a few more moments before you gather the courage to push your finger against the button on top of the can, the sudden jet of paint only serving to stain your index finger and scare you a little.

Jamie laughs and shakes her head in amusement, and - because you are _you_ \- the challenge in her actions only manage to spur you on.

So you try again, and once you get a hold on the pressure you need to apply to make things work, you spray a sorry excuse for a cactus on the wall.

There's too much paint and you've sprayed it too close to the surface so it's running down and basically ruining the whole thing, but when you tilt your head to the side and you let yourself study it for a moment, you find you don't quite _hate_ it.

New things. Maybe that's what you've been working for all along.

“Sometimes I wonder how is it that you've actually managed to help me when most of the time I'm convinced you're completely mad.”

Jamie laughs at that. “We're all mad here, Laura. Maybe the point is simply not fighting it.”

 _Yeah,_ you think. _Maybe it is._

//

It took you nearly three years in college to accept that you really, really, _really_ hate calculus.

Even more so, you've come to realize that when Carmilla is not around, apparently your ability to even solve the most basic problems runs out of the window and everything just becomes a blur of letters and numbers and weird symbols and, honestly, you can't even stand it anymore.

If you're being honest with yourself, you know, in the deepest and darkest corners of your mind, that pre-med is just _not_ where your heart is at. And it definitely isn't set on, well - _actual_ med school.

The thought of it alone sends a shiver running through your spine and you feel the bile rise to your throat just by considering a life dedicated to that.

Sure, it's a noble cause. The noblest one, probably, but it just isn't for you. Not when there's soccer and other things that you love doing more than the idea of dissecting bodies and studying human health.

And no, you probably can't get rid of calculus altogether, but there _are_ things you can give up on and after your last session with Jamie the thought that you can change your future has been growing bigger and bigger in your mind and it's all just a mess.

It's a mess because you're confused and you just hate being confused. There's no control in that. It just runs from your grip and escapes your reins and you're left fumbling for even a little bit of security in the midst of it all and it just _frightens_ you.

But at the same time, it's an exhilarating thought. To take a step forward without knowing what is to come. To leap without looking down.

You decided to do that with Carmilla and you can't ever bring yourself to regret where it got you. Why should it be any different with other aspects of your life?

“Ugh.” You groan, letting your head fall against your notebook.

There's no way you're finishing this homework, not with all the frustration and confusion that's crowding your brain right now so you take your phone, grab your jacket and decide you might as well let your feet take you somewhere while you try and make sense of all that's going on in your mind right now.

//

It's not really a surprise that you end up at the ice rink, not these days anyway.

You think back to a couple of years ago when the field would be your go-to destination, the reckless running your only way to deal with the things you couldn't make sense of and you can't help but being glad that this all changed ever since you and Carmilla became close.

She's running drills with Danny and a couple of other teammates on the other side of the ice so she doesn't see you walk in, but your Dad does and waves at you from his place at the sidelines.

You wave back at him and you climb the stands towards your usual seat, and it's only when you do that you notice someone else sitting there, head down and dark hair falling over his eyes in a way that throws you back a little because of how similar it is to Carmilla whenever she's in the same position.

“Will.” You clear your throat and when he looks up, you give him a shy wave. “Hey.”

You've met Carmilla’s brother at Starbuck’s a couple of times and you can still remember the scrawny kid you used to see walking around back in high school, but you haven't actually met him while in the capacity of his _sister’s girlfriend._

Oh well, might as well be now, you guess.

“Laura.” He nods, after sizing you up for a moment.

The two of you fall into a heavy silence then and you try to think of what to say, but for a person who's apparently so popular, you've never actually known how to deal with certain situations and this seems like the worst one you could've gotten yourself into, especially without Carmilla around.

“God, this is awkward.” You roll your eyes, letting out a frustrated huff. “Why is this awkward?”

To your surprise, Will's lips crack in a smile. “Well, I can see why she likes you. You're an amusing cupcake.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What _is it_ with your family and food? Honestly. I'm starting to get convinced this might actually be some kind of complex.”

“Food is nice.” He shrugs. “We like food.”

That makes no sense whatsoever, so you tell him that as you drop yourself on the seat next to him.

“It's easier if you just roll with it, I guess.”

He looks from you to the rink and then back to his lap and it's only then that you realize he has a bunch of books strewn next to him and a notebook is sitting on his lap, a pencil and a pen lying on top of it.

“Is that homework?” You ask, though it's kind of an obvious question.

“Yeah,” Will nods. “Creative Writing. Let's just say it's not working very well right now.”

“You don't like it?” There's a lilt of surprise in your voice and Will must notice it, because he laughs and just shakes his head.

“Nah,” he clicks his tongue, looking to the rink again. “I like math.”

You follow his gaze and you find yourself looking at your girlfriend again.

“I suppose it runs in the family.”

He nods. “Her fault, though. She was just always so fascinated with it, and I wanted to understand _why._ And I guess I also wanted to share that with her, so it kind of just became our thing, you know?”

“I don't have siblings,” you confess. “So I kind of don't, not really.”

“She used to take me to her practices when she was younger,” he continues, apparently not bothered by the fact that you can't really relate to his experiences. “She’d make me sit on the stands and do my homework. When practice was over she would come and check it out and if it was all good, she'd take me skating with her.”

He looks back at you and there's a mixture of nostalgia and sadness in his gaze. “I kept doing that even when I was away at boarding school. Because it reminded me of her.”

“Will-”

He shakes his head, “I know she must have told you how I acted when I came back.” He sighs. “I was hurt, you know? But I guess she was too, and I didn't have the right to act like I did.”

“I'm sure Carmilla doesn't blame you for that.”

“She probably doesn't.” He rolls his eyes, a fond smile on his lips. “She's not very good at holding grudges, to be honest.”

You have to agree with him there.

“I suppose that's a good thing for both of us, isn't it?”

Will laughs at that, and his eyes are glinting with _something_ when he looks back at you.

“I never thought I'd say this,” he leans forward, as if meaning to tell you yet another secret. “But she picked a good one in you, Laura Hollis.”

You feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but instead of saying anything, you reach out for his notebook and what he's working on.

“Come on, dude. Let's get this homework done.”

When Carmilla walks out of the locker rooms to find you proof-reading her brother’s homework, a grin splits on her lips and you're half convinced it's responsible for how much lighter the arena gets.

It makes you fall in love with her even more.

//

“Would you like to go to my session next Friday?” You ask Carmilla one night as she's walking around your room, carefully inspecting the pictures covering your walls.

She's been around more often and you've realized that, now that she knows the light switches in your house as well as you know the ones in her apartment, she's made a habit of going through those pictures at least once a week, as if trying to memorize each and every detail in them.

At first, it scared you. As if the thought of her seeing so deep into your soul would make her run out the door, but you should've known better, really.

Carmilla is not a runner. That's always been _you,_ but lately you've been growing more and more comfortable with the idea that if you have to run somewhere, it might as well be towards her.

“Sorry, what?” She asks, turning to you and finally forgetting the photograph she's been staring at for the last few minutes.

You pat the space next to you and Carmilla wastes no time climbing in your bed and settling against you, a small sigh of contentment escaping her lips as she nudges her nose against your neck.

“Jamie,” you breathe out, trying to focus on what you need to ask her and not how good it feels to have her lips so close to your skin. “She would like to meet you.”

Carmilla pulls back then, brows furrowed in confusion. “She would? Why- Is that a good thing?”

You press a soft kiss to her lips because you can't stand how cute she looks with her eyes all wide and her lips slightly parted, and you give her a small smile of reassurance as you pull back.

“I think so.” You nod. “I talk about you a lot, you know?”

“You do?”

“Of course.” You kiss her again. “I love you. You're the reason why-”

She shakes her head before you're even finished, “Laura-”

“No, look-” you press the tip of your index finger to her lips and Carmilla rolls her eyes at the interruption but only pecks your finger and let's you continue. “I know that I wouldn't be here if I hadn't made an effort to right the wrongs in my life. But you have to know that I wouldn't have accepted there was even something wrong if it hadn't been for you.”

“I'm sure you'd have seen the light eventually.” She jokes, but you can tell from the look in her eyes that she knows what you mean.

“You put too much faith in me.”

Carmilla pushes up on her elbows then, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

“I love you.” She says, and the devotion in her words has your heart hammering loudly against your ribcage. “It’d be my pleasure to meet Jamie.”

You let your hands cup her face and you run your thumbs against her skin as your eyes take in every single detail, every single barely-there freckle in her cheeks and every gold speckle in her dark eyes.

There's hundreds of pictures in your walls, but if you could take one of how she looks through your eyes you're sure that nothing in this world would ever be able to compare, not in beauty and not in perfection.

“A word of warning, though,” you say, finally snapping out of your revelry long enough to get back to the matter at hand. “She's crazy. Absolutely insane. You probably won't understand a thing she says.”

Carmilla scoffs at that, resting her forehead against yours, a grin on her lips. “Well, sounds like we'll make great friends then.”

“That's actually a frightening thought.”

She's ready to crack another joke, but you decide it's enough for now so you kiss her once and you kiss her twice and then you push her back against your bed and you kiss her again.

Your dad won't be home for a few hours and you can think of better ways to spend your time with your girlfriend.

//

There's something about the way Carmilla’s fingers travel across your skin that has you half convinced she's trying to map out every single detail of your body.

And you can't say you blame her, not when you try to do the same whenever you manage to take her clothes off.

You've been with a lot of girls in the past, more than you sometimes care to admit, but Carmilla is _different._

She's all sure lips and firm touches, but her gaze is all vulnerability, as if she's scared of breaking you even when you'd be more than glad to let her do exactly that.

Everytime your lips graze the tattoo on her hips and your hands grip her skin as she builds up the fire within you, it feels as if she's finding new ways to show just exactly how much she loves you, as if she didn't do that in so many other ways every day.

It's a gift, really. Or, rather, _she_ is.

And you don't know what in your life you've done to deserve her, but you've made an unconscious decision, however many months ago when you threw a water bottle at her and told her to bring her own next time, that you'd do anything to keep her around.

You might have not known it then, but you do now. And you've never been sure of many things in your life, but when your hands touch her skin and your mouth presses against her, you _are_ sure of Carmilla Karnstein.

And you don't mind showing it to her over and over again.

//

“What do I say?” Carmilla asks you once you slip into Jamie’s office the following Friday, her palm sweating against yours.

“What are you talking about?”

“I don't know,” she shrugs. “I just want to know if I should say anything specifically.”

You can't help the laugh that escapes your lips. “I don't think you need to worry about that, baby.”

“Okay.” She nods to herself and then gives your hand a squeeze. “Let's do this.”

You wonder if Carmilla feels half the confusion you felt when you first saw how odd Jamie’s office was, but if she does, it doesn't show on her face.

Instead, when she sees the clouds painted on the walls and the mismatched furniture thrown around, she meets Jamie’s gaze, tilts her head to the side and blurts out something that surprises you, but in hindsight, it really shouldn't.

“You think we can paint some stars on that too?”

Jamie grins, and gives you a pointed look as she motions her thumb towards Carmilla.

“This kid. I already like her better than you, Hollis.”

You can't even blame her, really. You like Carmilla better than everyone else too.

//

By the time the end of the month rolls around and you find yourself sitting next to Will at the rink again, you realize that somewhere between that first meeting and the weeks that followed, you developed some sort of routine.

He's not a worthy substitute of Carmilla, not for many reasons, but his grasp of math reaches far beyond yours and so he's able to help you just as much as his sister can, and in turn you're able to help him with everything else that doesn't bore you to death and makes you want to repeatedly bang your head against the desk in frustration.

“Can I ask you something?” Will says one day when you're all but throwing your books at him.

Between your calculus and chemistry credits, you're pretty sure you're gonna go insane sometime very soon.

“Yeah, sure.”

He gathers your books and stack them together, buying him some time before he turns to you again.

“You're pre-med, right?”

You nod.

“Why?”

And honestly, it's not a question you can answer. It seemed like the logical thing when you got into college, back when you thought you had something to prove, but you’re older and wiser now and - as cliche as it sounds - you _know better._

You talked about this with Carmilla and you talked about it with Jamie, but it's the fact that Will, a person who is just getting to know you - can see enough to ask you _why_ you're following this path that makes you accept that maybe you do need new things in your life.

“I don't know, actually.” You confess to him, and you can't even help yourself as your eyes search for Carmilla all the way down in the rink.

When you do find her, you let out a heavy breath.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“But it doesn't now.”

It's not a question, but you nod your head anyway. “It doesn't.”

He goes quiet for a moment, and then he pulls his books close to him and shrugs as he opens the homework he has due.

“I guess it's a good thing you don't have to stick to it.”

And the way he says it, so flippantly, as if it's a given that you can just give up on this and start over, makes you realize that maybe you've been giving too much thought into this. And maybe it's time that you drop yet another thing that doesn't make you happy in your life to make room for the things that do.

And when you watch Will actually make through his own homework without nearly as much help as he needed before, you realize that you do know what makes you happy. And, just like you realized with Carmilla, you don't want to lose that because you were too scared to do something about it.

//

Later that night, when you're doing the dishes Carmilla ran away from doing once again, you turn around and you meet her gaze from where she's sitting on the table with homework strewn around her, and you tell her what's been on your mind for a long time now.

“I'm changing majors.”

She looks up at you then, blinks her eyes once and then wastes no time walking to you.

“I'm happy for you, baby.”

And then she presses a kiss to your nose and pulls back with a grin, and all the fear you had left in you suddenly disappears because this is _right._

For once in your life, it actually feels like everything is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tams honestly listened to Skyscraper while posting this because it's her official song for overcoming adversities and the fact that Tams is speaking in third person just proves to you all that this was _a battle._
> 
> Please let Tams know you liked it!


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